Alone with the Wolves
by the moon of my life
Summary: Robb, Jon, and Daenerys have been inseparable since the day they could walk. Even after learning of their identities, nothing could divide them. Then their world starts to shift once Robert Baratheon arrives and nothing is the same afterwards.
1. Chapter I

**A/N:** This is a reboot of my second _ASOIAF_ fic His Fire. I wasn't satisfied with the way it was turning out, so I decided to delete it and start out fresh. My writing has improved, so I'm hoping that the characters and story will be more fleshed out. Overall, the premise is the same, but with some noticeable differences.

 **Disclaimer** **:** I don't own _ASOIAF_

Anyways, enjoy and review this chapter!

* * *

 **I.**

The wind howled around Eddard Stark as he and his men struggled to keep their fleet anchored before Dragonstone. Near their own ship was the Targaryen fleet suffering in the waters. Suddenly the storm became enraged and smashed the Targaryen fleet against the rocks, allowing the waters to swallow it.

"Stannis!" shouted Ned from the deck. "We must hurry before they escape!"

"You go!" replied Stannis Baratheon, his voice loud and rough over the wailing of the harsh winds. "Take half my men and _go_! We'll stay and keep the ship steady!"

Stannis barked out an order to his men, while Ned commanded his own to follow his lead. They were tasked by Stannis's older brother Robert to seize Dragonstone from the remaining Targaryens. If it weren't for the nephew he was forced to leave behind in the Red Keep, he would have been more eager to accept the task. Ned was only grateful to have an excuse not to stay in King's Landing with the new king. The castle held grisly memories for Ned, from the deaths of his brother and father to the murders of Elia Martell and her children.

 _There was no honor in that conquest_ , thought Ned as he and his men stormed through the gates of Dragonstone. The lion of Lannister had defied his oath to his king and deserved to take the black yet Robert was adamant about keeping his new wife's twin around. Already Ned heard the men on the fleet refer to Jaime Lannister as "Kingslayer."

The garrison guarding the ex-royals gave no fight as they entered the castle. One even offered to show Ned where Aerys's widow laid if Ned promised to spare them. Ned said nothing, only demanding the man guide him to the former queen. He found her lying in bed, the sheets stained with blood. In her arms, she held a screaming babe.

He realized that she was dying.

"My lady," Ned said, approaching her.

Rhaella slowly tilted her head to gaze about him. Her eyes could hardly stay open and with each labored breath she took, the more pain she seemed to suffer. Damp locks of silvery-blonde hair framed her face, her skin a sickly pale as she continued to lose more blood.

"Please... please..." Her voice was hoarse the more she spoke. "Do not harm my child, please... leave her be... she is so innocent... please..."

Ned stared at her, sorrow spreading throughout him. Unlike Lord Lannister, he had concerns with harming a child. Guilt struck him as he remembered Lannister's men plunder the Red Keep, the Mountain raping and murdering Elia whilst she held her son Aegon in her arms, just as Rhaella held her own now.

Coming closer, Ned went on one knee by the dowager queen's bed.

"My lady, no harm shall come to your child so long as I live," Ned vowed.

She studied his face, searching his eyes for falseness. Her hold on her babe slackened to the point that Ned was afraid she would let the child slip out of her arms.

"You forever have my thanks," the older woman murmured. She closed her eyes and as she continued to speak, her voice became lighter. "Her name is Daenerys... Daenerys Stormborn..."

Her eyes closed and Ned could only feel a sadness as the former queen died murmuring her daughter's name. He took the child from her arms and quieted the babe's cries.

"Lord Stark," coughed someone. Ned whirled, still holding the babe. "We could not locate Viserys anywhere."

"You've checked everywhere?" Ned questioned, frowning.

"Yes, m'lord. We believe he has escaped," the man replied. His eyes went to Daenerys. "What should we do with her and her mother?"

"Build a funeral pyre for Rhaella. As for her daughter..." Ned looked down at the babe in his arms. She had stopped crying, though she continued to mewl. "I will keep her as a ward of Winterfell."

The man opened his mouth, but closed it once he saw the steadfast look on Ned's face. He offered to fetch for someone to find a blanket for Daenerys since the storm outside still raged on. Ned continued to soothe her, his mind drifting to his wife.

Catelyn would not be pleased. Along with his new ward, he was bringing Brandon's bastard to live with them. From the short time he'd met Catelyn, he knew she was still grieving his brother. Ned wasn't offended, aware that there must have been some affection passed between his brother and his betrothed. So, bringing the proof of her love's infidelity was bound to hurt her. He meant no harm towards her, but he couldn't leave a child with Stark blood alone.

 _When_ _the cold wind blows the lone wolf dies but the pack survives_ , he remembered his father telling him.

For now, though, Ned had to worry about Robert's wrath.

* * *

It was hard to fear Robert for he was often boisterous and drunk with ale and lust, but the enraged silence Ned received when he arrived to the Great Hall unnerved him.

"Keep the girl out of his sights," urged Jon Arryn when he had led Ned inside the Red Keep. "He will be easier to engage with without the girl there."

"Give her to my nephew's wet nurse then," Ned instructed. Arryn nodded and the two separated, leaving Ned alone in the capacious corridor. His face grew rigid as he drew closer to the throne room. Things were still sour between them since Ned expressed his anger and disappointment in the murder of Rhaegar's family. Robert's hatred for Rhaegar had become unreasonable to the point that he wished every Targaryen dead.

The great pair of bronze doors opened as he entered the cavernous stone hall. Ned noted that Robert had replaced the skulls of the dead dragons and instead adorned the walls with hunting tapestries. Upon the towering barbed throne sat Robert.

Going down on one knee, Ned lowered his head respectfully and greeted the man. "Your Grace."

Robert continued to look at him before abruptly standing and walking down the high and narrow steps until they were just a few feet apart.

"You've done well this entire war yet when I expect you and Stannis to take Dragonstone, I was not prepared to hear that you allowed Viserys to escape nor did I expect you to let the dragonspawn live," Robert said after a tense moment.

"You were not there," Ned started evenly. "Rhaella laid dying when I found her. She begged me not to hurt the girl. How could I refuse?"

"You refuse because it was an _order_ from your king," he snapped waspishly. "You honor that bitch's wish yet what do Targaryens know of honor? Go back to Winterfell and into your crypt, and ask Lyanna about the dragon's honor!"

"Unlike your lions, I refuse to treat a child with such treachery," Ned fired back. "I will protect her, treat her as my own. Daenerys Stormborn should not pay for her father's sins. If you do not like it then send your lion to do your dirty work."

"You speak ugly words, Ned," growled Robert. His jaw clenched and his right fist twitched. "What makes you think that Targaryen girl will be as grateful as you believe her to be? What will you do when she grows teats and decides that she wants back the fucking throne? Then what, Ned? _What will you do?_ "

If Ned were more like Brandon, he would have let his boiled blood speak the better of him. Brandon had the wolf's blood and would have eagerly fought Robert until they ran out of punches to give, but Ned was not Brandon. His eyes grew hard as stones while his face shifted into something so cold that it often made others afraid to speak to him.

"If the girl has an appetite for vengeance then so be it," Ned replied in a restrained voice. "But I will raise her and keep her in Winterfell and if she attempts treason as you so believe then she is yours. Other than that, I won't allow you to lay a hand on her, Your Grace."

Robert bristled at his glacial tone. "You would go against your friend for the sister of the man who raped Lyanna?"

"You are not the only one who has suffered."

They stared at each for a long time and Ned could see the hurt in Robert's eyes. _He feels as though I have betrayed him_ , Ned realized. But did he not understand? Ned had gone to war with him, stood by his side as they rebelled against the kingdom yet Robert kept forgetting that Lyanna was _his_ sister. He was the one who watched her die in the Tower of Joy.

King Robert turned away from him, disgusted. "Leave my sight and take your dragonspawn with you."

Ned left without another word, ready to return home.

* * *

"Is that all he does?" asked a familiar voice. Catelyn Tully looked up to find Edmure peering at the sleeping bundle in her arms.

"What? Sleep?" she asked. When he nodded, she couldn't suppress her amused smile. "That's what babies do, Edmure."

"How boring," he remarked and she chuckled. "Father says your husband should be here soon."

Catelyn's smile disappeared and she looked down at baby sleeping soundlessly against her chest. Thankfully, Edmure was by her window and couldn't see the disappointed expression on her face. Eddard returning meant leaving Riverrun sooner than anticipated. Ever since she became betrothed to Brandon Stark, she fantasized about living in the winter wonderland. Now that she was Eddard's wife, she saw a different Winterfell. She imagined it was like him: cold and frozen.

Edmure wasn't wrong about Eddard arriving soon. Five hours later, her husband finally reached Riverrun. She, Robb, and Edmure were waiting by the gates for Eddard when he and his party poured through. Catelyn frowned when she thought she saw a _woman_ among the soldiers mounting their horses.

"My lord," she greeted, holding Robb closer when she heard him whine. The noise was becoming too much for the baby, but she wanted him to meet his father. "I'm relieved that you've returned safely."

"My lady," Eddard said, his voice distant and formal. "Is it…?"

"A boy, yes," she answered proudly. "His name is Robb. He looks just like Edmure did as a babe."

Eddard smiled at Edmure who blushed. He always seemed to blush when Catelyn compared him to Robb. His voice was a little warmer when he addressed Edmure who in return mumbled his greetings.

"My lady, would you take me to your godswood? I would have words with you," Eddard suddenly asked.

"Of course." Catelyn led her husband to the godswood.

In her childhood, the godswood was a place where she, Lysa, Edmure, and Petyr could play all sorts of games that her father wouldn't approve of. She even shared her first kiss with Brandon when he came to visit for the first time. She did, however, know the value that place held for Eddard and refrained from mentioning anything.

Once they reached the godswood, Eddard looked more than surprised at the sight of it. "Your godswood is very beautiful. Far different than mine back home." He turned to her and looked at the baby in her arms. "May I?"

She handed him over without question. Catelyn would never deprive her husband of being around his children

 _Children? Do you plan to have more?_ She thought, ignoring the warmth rushing to her cheeks.

Nothing was said for some time. Eddard held their son carefully, afraid to drop him. It would have made her laugh if she weren't wondering about the reason why he brought them here. Had something happened back in King's Landing?

"Robert sent me with Stannis to take Dragonstone," Eddard finally said. "I had wanted to wait until the storm ended, but Robert had been impatient and forced us to leave at once."

"Did he not realize how dangerous the waters were?" Catelyn asked, surprised.

"His hate for all Targaryens clouded his senses," he answered quietly. "Rhaella was dying when I found her, weakened from giving birth. She begged me not to hurt her daughter, and if you had seen her, Catelyn, heard her..." Eddard paused, remembering. "I could not harm that girl and I could not live with myself if I let Robert get his hands on her. Not after the way he handled Elia and her children."

Catelyn let out a shuddering breath as she recalled the letter from Eddard. He hadn't described their deaths in vivid detail, but everyone in Westeros heard of the horror. Raped and murdered, her child's brains on the wall in her room... Catelyn had a sudden urge to hold Robb forever.

"So we are to keep her?" It was meant as a question, but Catelyn knew the answer. "You know as well as I do that the North does not have a fondness for Targaryens. Your sworn Houses will think you a loyalist to the fallen dynasty."

"What kind of man do you take me for? To condemn an innocent child for her father's sins? Allow her to grow up alone, with her mother dead, her brother slain, and another escaped? Rhaegar may have taken my sister, but I will not blame her for such actions, and neither should anyone else."

She was startled by the vehemence in his voice, but could not deny the ache in her heart as she considered this. Daenerys would have suffered the same fate as Elia of Dorne and her children if given to Robert, but spared to live as a ward... would her life be any better? Her father was the Mad King, something no one would allow her to forget. Catelyn feared the day Daenerys would become a woman flowered. Would she turn against Eddard and demand the Iron Throne? Or would she dance with madness and terrorize Winterfell?

Her husband noticed her reluctance. "Cat," he said tenderly and she widened her eyes at the endearment. "Tell me what you think."

"I..." she took his hands in hers, and she did not ignore the mild surprise on his face. "Your compassion for this girl overwhelms me and I cannot help but worry about what happens when she comes of age, but..." Catelyn gave a small smile. "I believe the gods will forever bless you for this act of kindness and I will help make certain that everyone treats her with the utmost respect."

A smile spread across Ned's face and it only made her stomach flutter.

"You have my thanks." His smile waned and he hesitated. "Before Brandon died… he fathered a son."

Catelyn stared at him. Fathered a son? Brandon? How? No, he couldn't have. He was betrothed to her. He was in love with _her_. How could have he have been unfaithful to her? Inhaling sharply, Catelyn tried to push back her hurt. At least it wasn't Eddard who fathered a bastard.

"Who is his mother?" she asked slowly.

"Are you certain you want to know?" Eddard questioned, regarding her. When she said nothing, he said gently, "Ashara Dayne."

Ashara Dayne. Catelyn felt a sharp pain in her chest from just hearing her name. She never met or seen the woman before, but everyone knew of her striking beauty. Of course a beautiful woman like Ashara Dayne would entice Brandon. But Brandon was just in the wrong as she was. He could have denied her. He could have—

 _I'm married to Eddard_ , Catelyn reminded herself firmly. There was no need to agonize over Brandon's infidelity. She was never his wife and it wasn't Eddard's bastard that he was mentioning.

"Why are you telling me this?" Catelyn asked, watching as Eddard handled Robb's whining with uncertainty. "He's hungry."

"I went to Starfall to return Arthur Dayne's bones to his sister. She confessed that Brandon was the father of her son when I met her and requested I take him. Not too long after I left her castle, I heard news that… that Ashara had jumped from one of the towers." He turned away after handing her Robb. "Jon is of my blood. Leaving him without a mother in Starfall would have been wrong. I hope you understand that this isn't to hurt you, my lady, but I must honor my family."

"I understand." It didn't hurt any less. Catelyn would have cried, but her duty to her family was more important than her feelings for the dead. "You must be tired, my lord. Rest and we'll leave on the morrow."

He looked at her with something resembling pity, but then smiled. The softness of it caught Catelyn off guard and it eased the pain a little.

"Sounds like an excellent plan," he said then walked with her inside the castle.

* * *

 **A/N:** So, we know who Jon's parents are (in this fic). I saw no reason for Ned to hide it, so that's why he told Catelyn. I'd understand why he'd hide it if his parents were Lyanna and Rhaegar, but we'll never know. I just like the idea that Ashara is Jon's mother since she may be alive and could potentially meet him. Since Brandon and Ashara met at the Tourney at Harrenhel, Jon is technically two years older than Robb. I've checked the dates they're born on the wiki, but feel free to correct me if I'm wrong.

Also, I'm aware that Stannis didn't sail to Dragonstone during Daenerys's birth, but let's pretend he did for the sake of the story.

Anyways, I hope you guys like the first chapter!


	2. Chapter II

**II.**

For what Jon could remember at the young age of six, he's never lived anywhere but Winterfell. He couldn't remember a time when it wasn't snowing or cold outside. The ancient castle was his home. There were times, however, when it did not _feel_ like home. He attributed that feeling to learning that this wasn't actually his home.

His parents were dead. Uncle Ned wouldn't tell him how they died, but they weren't here anymore. The only thing he knew was that his mother was Dornish and his father was Uncle Ned's older brother. That explained things to Jon who always had a feeling that Lady Stark was never his mother. She never treated him the way she treated Robb. It bothered him, but he never mentioned it. He felt strange bringing it up to anyone.

"So, Robb isn't my brother." Jon had meant it as a question, but he knew better than that.

"He's your cousin," answered Uncle Ned.

"What about Daenerys?" he asked, remembering the little girl that followed him and Robb around. She was young, but played like she was a big kid so he and Robb tolerated her.

"Daenerys?" Uncle Ned repeated, surprised.

"Is she my sister? Or is she Robb's?" Jon questioned.

"She's no one sister," he replied then smiled. "Do you _want_ her to be your sister?"

Jon shrugged. "I'm only asking. What happened to her parents?"

Uncle Ned's smile disappeared. Jon felt bad for asking, but his uncle answered. "They're dead, but don't tell her that. Okay, Jon?"

He nodded and laughed when Uncle Ned tousled his hair. After that, things hadn't changed between him, Robb, and Dany. They still played their favorite game where they defended the Wall from the Others. Sometimes they played outlaws and other time they played knights and dragons, but Dany never wanted to be the fair maiden. Neither he or Robb minded that she pretended to be a knight like them.

She wasn't brave like them, though.

For the past three days, it was snowing heavily outside. The snow fell so hard that Uncle Ned forbid them from playing in the yard. That restricted them to Old Nan's room where she regaled them with tales of the last hero and the Night's King. Her stories terrified Jon, but he was the oldest so he couldn't be afraid. When it came time for bed, Jon was glad he shared a room with Robb.

"Do you think the Night's King is still alive?" Robb asked in the dark room.

"No," Jon lied. He tried to sound relaxed. "Once you die, you can't come back."

"So, his ghost won't come here?"

"Ghosts aren't real. Just ask Maester Luwin."

"Old Nan says there are ghosts."

"But she isn't a maester."

"I guess you're right," Robb conceded. He yawned and Jon himself felt sleepy. "Goodnight, Jon."

"Night, Robb," he murmured, turning to his side.

It felt like the minute he closed his eyes, he was awake again. Jon blinked a few times as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He stiffened when he heard whispering near Robb's bed. Jon forgot how to breathe when the whispering stopped and small feet moved towards his bed. He let out a relieved breath when it was just Dany.

"Jon? Are you awake?" she asked quietly.

"What are you _doing_ here?" Jon asked, propping himself up on his elbows.

"I'm scared the Night's King is going to get me," Dany admitted then tugged at his blanket. "Can I sleep with you?"

"I don't think that's proper," he said, frowning.

" _Please_ , Jon," she pleaded, sounding scared and awfully like a three-year-old.

Jon was certain it wasn't proper for a girl and boy to share a bed unless they were wedded, but nevertheless helped Dany climb into his bed. He was supposed to protect her. No one told him to, but she had no parents like him, so he guessed the job fell onto him. Next to him, Dany smelled sweet like lavenders.

Curling closer, Dany murmured, "Thank you, Jon."

He said nothing, only trying to go back to sleep.

* * *

Life at Winterfell was starting to become comfortable when Ned received a raven from Robert Baratheon that he needed his help in invading the island of Pyke.

For the past few months, Ned had been receiving raven after raven about the Greyjoys attacks along the surrounding coasts of the Sunset Sea and while Ned had no love for the Lannisters, he found it unmerited that the Greyjoys would launch a surprise attack on Lannisport, one of the most populous cities in Westeros.

Robert needed all the men Ned could rally in the North. Ned, ever so dutiful of his king and friend, called forth the North's bannermen. The lords and their hosts came, though Ned could see the reluctance on their faces. His decision to keep Daenerys Targaryen as a ward still chafed the Northern lords, but it mattered nothing to Ned what their opinion on the subject. He refused not to honor Rhaella's dying wish to care for her daughter.

The Great Hall was much rowdier than usual with the Greatjon demanding the bard Wyman Manderly brought to sing bawdy songs. Catelyn's courtesies were much appreciated by Ned, charming the lords seated around her with her beauty and kindness. He couldn't help but stay reserved, only offering quiet conversations to anyone who engaged in one with him.

Quieting down the hall, Ned stood from his chair. He explained their plan to attack the island of Pyke and was unsurprisingly met with opposition.

"Why should we follow you into battle?" questioned Rickard Karstark. "You're letting some dragonspawn live in your home! After all the madness her father has done to us!"

"Yes," Ned agreed, "After all the madness her _father_ has done. Daenerys had no dealing with my family's deaths. She is only a child and has done me no harm. Now, if any of you are so frightened of a mere child then I will not stop you if refuse to join me."

The Greatjon stood from his chair, puffed out his broad chest, and declared, "I do not fear a child, much less that of a Targaryen!"

More men let out exclamations similar to the Greatjon's and Ned could see Lord Karstark's face flush with embarrassment. He told them of Robert's plan to take Pyke and end Greyjoy's rebellion, and was pleased when many of the lords loudly proclaimed they would join him, including Lord Karstark.

They marched towards the Westerlands where they met with Robert and his men. Contrary to what Ned thought Robert would do, he pulled Ned in a bone-crushing hug. He eagerly invited Ned to his tent and offered him some wine.

"More for me," Robert said when Ned declined. "How's your boy? Have any more?"

"Not yet. Robb is five and Catelyn gave birth to a girl two years ago. She's with child now," Ned told him. "Congratulations on your son. I believe he was born the same year Sansa was."

"Mayhap our children will wed once they are of age," Robert suggested after taking a long drink from his cup. "Cersei is with child as well. Hopefully it will be another boy, one that actually _looks_ like me."

"Don't you have a son that looks like you?" Ned inquired, remembering the mischief Robert got himself into at Stannis's wedding.

"Do I?" Robert's face went blank then lit up when he remembered. "Oh! You're talking about the boy I fathered on Delena Florent. I'm sure he has my visage. The girl back at the Vale does."

"I'm shocked you remember her," Ned admitted.

Robert barked out a laugh. "It is too bad most men do not hear how much you jest."

"I suppose you are lucky."

"I suppose I am."

A comfortable silence fell over them until Ned decided they needed to focus on their plan of seizing Pyke.

* * *

Everything was a blur for the young Greyjoy.

He was Ironborn, a son of Pyke, his god was the Drowned God of the islands, but in the next instance, Theon was now a hostage of the North, his life held in the hands of Lord Stark, a man with cold grey eyes. Theon remembered his mother crying and begging him not to leave, his sister Asha telling him not to forget her, and lastly his father reminding him that he was the son of the Lord Reaper of Pyke and he should never forget where he came from.

It was overwhelming for a ten-year-old boy, but Theon put on a brave face and promised them all what they wished to hear.

As he traveled to Winterfell with his captor, Theon was startled when the man told him, gently, about how he had a son and nephew around his age and another ward living with them and how everyone in Winterfell would treat him kindly. No one had ever spoken to Theon in that sort of tone before and it was disconcerting. Back on Pyke, he had brothers of his own, but they were slain in battle—not that Theon cared. Rodrik and Maron had been cruel to him, making him the subject of their mean-spirited japes. The only man who ever gave Theon smiles and kindness was Dagmer, the old raider who taught him how to ride, how to sail, and how to use the bow.

Snow fell lightly around them as they went through a town outside of the castle. Theon was tempted to ask why the town was so empty, but refrained from doing so. He still found Lord Stark intimidating and wouldn't open his mouth unless someone addressed him. It was usually Lord Stark who addressed him, but the man did not speak much, even to his own men who spoke loudly in a fashion that reminded Theon of the Ironborn.

Finally, they reached Winterfell.

Waiting by the gates were an auburn-haired woman, one so lovely she made Theon's chest tighten, holding a small girl in her arms and holding the hand of a young boy, both who shared the woman's lovely features. Theon realized they must have been Lord Stark's family, but wondered where his nephew hid. Dread spread throughout him when he briefly wondered if his nephew was _older_. He could not deal with another Rodrik and Maron.

The boy let go of his mother's hand and ran over to Lord Stark as he and Theon dismounted. Jealousy struck through him as Lord Stark smiled for the first time Theon met him. He gave his son a quick hug before standing back to his full height and taking the girl from his wife's arms. Theon's father never smiled in his presence nor ever gave him a hug.

 _Is this how it is in the North?_ Theon wondered, watching uncomfortably as Lord Stark greeted the rest of his family. He stiffened when the boy bounded over to him grinning.

"I'm Robb! Who are you?" he exclaimed.

"Theon of House Greyjoy, heir to the Iron Islands," Theon answered, straightening his stance.

"I'm an heir too," Robb said affably. He turned and gestured to the girl in Lord Stark's arms. "That's my sister, Sansa. I have another sister, Arya, but she was just born and has to stay inside."

"Your father said you have a cousin?" Theon found himself asking.

Robb's blue eyes lit up and he nodded his head rapidly. "His name's Jon, he's the best. Father! Can I show Theon around?"

Lord Stark looked between the boys and Theon tried not to look down at the ground. "Try not to get into too much trouble."

The thought of punishment from Lord Stark terrified Theon, but Robb laughed and led him inside the castle, easing his worries. Theon tried to listen to Robb as he guided him around the castle, but his mind was trying to process his new home. Robb took him upstairs to a bedroom where a black-haired boy, who looked more Stark than Robb did, sat on his bed talking to a girl.

"This is Jon—" he gestured to the boy. "—and that's Dany. She's a ward like you." Robb took his arm and presented him. "This is Theon! He's from the Iron Islands."

"Where are you from?" Theon asked the girl. He had never seen a girl like her, with her unusual, silvery-blonde hair and odd eyes.

"Lord Stark says I was born on Dragonstone," replied Dany then gave him a cheeky smile. "People call me Daenerys Stormborn."

Her words registered in his head and he widened his eyes in realization. Her father was Mad Aerys, her forebear Aegon the Conqueror. Before he could speak, Robb suggested they come along and help him show Theon around Winterfell.

"How good are you with a sword, Theon?" Robb inquired as they roamed through the empty corridors.

"Splendid, but I fare better with the bow," he answered, though he was telling half-truths. Dagmer had encouraged him to hone his archery skills than his sword hand, telling him he would never be the Kingslayer when it came to swordplay.

"Have you fought with steel?" Jon questioned, breaking his silence.

"Once, but that was between me and my brother Maron," he said, frowning from the memory. Maron had demanded to see how well he fared with the sword and had laughed his arse off when Theon accidentally cut himself with the steel.

"How many brothers do you have?" Robb asked.

"None. Both were slain in battle," Theon told them, his voice devoid of any emotion.

"Where is Sansa?" Dany suddenly asked.

"Last time I saw her, she was with Mother," Robb said then whirled, slowing down their pace. "What should we do?"

"We could go to the yard," suggested Jon. Robb and Dany eagerly agreed, while Theon only followed because he had nothing better to do.

When they reached the yard, Robb introduced Theon to a stout man, with thick grey whiskers. The man was named Ser Rodrik Cassel, the master-at-arms of Winterfell, and looked at Theon inquisitively when Robb began telling him of Theon's skill with the bow.

 _Shut up, you stupid boy_ , Theon thought, panicking.

"You should demonstrate for us, Theon," Robb insisted then urged Ser Rodrik to retrieve a bow.

"Fine," he relented, unable to refuse. If he did, he was certain someone would tell his father and the man would castrate him for being craven and not acting Ironborn.

Ser Rodrik handed him a longbow, one that was a little taller than Theon himself. He positioned himself in line of the target, drew out the string, and let the arrow sail and hit the edge of the center of the target. Theon cursed under his breath, annoyed that he didn't hit dead center, but was startled when Robb and Dany started shouting at the same time.

"That was _incredible_ ," Robb said after noticing Theon's confused expression.

"You're splendid like you said," Dany added, impressed.

Their compliments made Theon's pride swell, and he stood up a little straighter and grinned. "Well, I am the best bowman on Iron Islands."

And one of the few bowmen on the Iron Islands, but none of them needed to know that.

* * *

It was after the Karstarks visited Winterfell that Ned figured it was time for her to know the truth.

Lord Rickard Karstark was still uncomfortable around Daenerys, but hadn't brought her up during the feast. It wasn't until the wine had been passed around did some of his bannermen accuse Ned of refusing a betrothal between Lord Karstark's daughter Alys and Robb because he was "saving" him for Daenerys. That had ended the visit quicker than anticipated.

His own children began asking more frequently why Daenerys was there and why no one seemed to like her. Sansa even inquired if Daenerys was a bastard like Jon, but Ned managed to tell them some of her history.

"Her mother died bringing her into this world," Ned explained one night. "Her father was killed and her brother slain in battle against King Robert."

"Who was her father?" Jon inquired, curious.

"The king before," Ned answered, unwilling to go further. He didn't want them to know of Mad Aerys just yet.

"So she was a princess?" Sansa widened her eyes at the realization. Ned nodded, and the little girl's eyes grew bigger. "Is she still a princess?"

"No longer. She is my ward."

"What does that mean?"

"It means she will live with us for a long time."

"That's good," Jon mumbled and Ned smiled.

"She can still be your friend, even if she isn't your sister," he told them, ruffling Jon's black hair. "Treat her kindly. She has no one else."

"Don't worry, Father!" Robb gave him a determined look. "Dany is great! We'll always be her friend. Right, Jon? Sansa?"

"Right," Jon affirmed quietly.

It was later that night when he led Daenerys to his solar that he was unable to ignore the twist in his gut. Daenerys started to get to her feet, but Ned stopped her and joined her on the floor. She beamed at him and Ned could scarcely ignore the surge of guilt. With a heavy sigh, he began to explain to her who she truly was.

Ned would never forget how her smile died.

* * *

For a moment, Dany had forgotten what happiness tasted like.

She was young, but she could never fail to remember the day Lord Stark sat her down and told her the truth behind the name Targaryen.

Her father, Aerys II, had been the king before Robert Baratheon, one of Lord Stark's closest friends. From what he told her, her father had been unfit to rule and could not care for his people and certainly not Dany. Still, there had been a bit of sadness in her when he revealed that he had been killed by a young man that he refused to name before she was born. Her mother, Rhaella, had been his queen as well as his sister.

"It is what your family does," Lord Stark had said once he noticed the puzzled look on Dany's face. "You hail from Valyria and from there your people had no qualms over wedding a brother to a sister."

Her mother's death saddened her more than her father's. She had given up her life so Dany could live hers and Dany hated how she had no way of ever thanking her for it. Then there was her brother, Rhaegar, a prince slain by King Robert himself.

"Why did he kill my brother?" Dany had asked as she rubbed her eyes. Her tears had begun blurring her vision.

Lord Stark had been unable to look at her directly then. "Rhaegar did something bad, Daenerys. Something that I will tell you of once you're older."

The only good thing he told her was that she had another brother, one named Viserys, but then she learned he lived worlds away in a place called the Free Cities. Dany didn't think she'd be able to ever meet her older brother.

She had been pulled into Lord Stark's arms, his hold filling Dany with warmth not expected from the withdrawn lord. Dany remembered him promising her that he'd always protect her and that would he always be a daughter to him, even though she wasn't his blood. That only made her cry harder.

When she had finally calmed down, Lord Stark led her to her rooms. Dany had hidden there for a few days until Robb, Jon, and Sansa came looking for her.

"Are you ill?" Sansa asked, concerned. "Should I get Maester Luwin?"

"No," Dany answered, hiding under the furs. "I'm fine."

"Then where have you been?" Robb questioned, climbing onto her bed.

"Why do you care?" she demanded, pulling the furs off her to look at them. "Didn't your father tell you? I am not your sister."

It was quiet for a while before Jon and Sansa climbed on the bed and nudged her. She looked at him and his cousins, frowning more at how different she looked from the three of them. Jon had grey eyes so dark they looked black from a distance and thick black hair curling over his earlobes, while Robb and Sansa had blue eyes prettier than the sky on a clear day and reddish-brown hair. After taking a look at herself in the mirror, Dany thought she looked freakish with her purple eyes and silver hair.

 _How did I ever think I was a Stark?_ Dany asked herself, feeling foolish.

"So?" was Robb's eventual reply. "If you can't be my sister then you can be my friend."

Dany's gaze softened and she felt her face break into a wide, relieved smile. "Truly?" she found herself asking.

"We wouldn't desert you," Jon assured her.

Her smile got wider and Dany pulled them all into a hug. When their embrace ended, Robb suggested they play their favorite game where they defended the Wall from the Others. Dany followed them, overjoyed and thankful that they accepted her.


	3. Chapter III

**III.**

There were times when Jon missed the days when it was just him, Robb, and Dany together, playing whatever games they came up with that same day. Then he would feel a surge of guilt for wishing his cousins weren't around.

Since his uncle took in Theon as his ward, things changed within the castles of Winterfell. Robb and Theon grew close, his cousin considering him an older brother of sorts. Jon couldn't see how Robb tolerated Theon with his arrogance, derisive comments, and sly smile. His smile irked Jon, looking as though he knew some secret jest that only he was privy to. Thankfully, Robb did not abandon Jon.

Then there was Dany. She did not share the same bond with Theon as Robb did, her efforts to befriend him unrequited. It was before Theon became the promiscuous ass he currently was that he refused to "waste his time" with the younger Dany. As they aged, however, Theon's distaste for her lessened and the two became tolerable of each other. Their strange relationship bewildered Jon, but he didn't allow himself to ponder it.

Age made it difficult for the three of them to spend time together. The older they grew, the less things they had in common. They were still taught how to read and write together by Maester Luwin, but practicing in the yard occupied both Jon and Robb's time. Dany herself was busy becoming a noblewoman alongside Sansa and Arya. Like Arya, Dany harbored little love for needlework.

"It bores me," she said, when she had convinced him to accompany her to the stables. "And I'd rather do things that don't bore me, like learn of my family's history or ride."

She was a skilled rider, though she did not compare to Arya, who was half a horse herself. Regardless of her age, Arya couldn't be beaten when challenged to a race. Sansa could ride well enough, nothing close to Dany and Arya, but she cared far too much about dirtying her skirts and gossiping with Jeyne Poole to join them.

Even with her needlework and his time spent in the yard, Jon and Dany were always together. She could wander the halls at night and he'd join her. He could have hidden away in the godswood and she'd find him. Like now, he sat leaning against the heart tree in the godswood, his mind filled with thoughts of his mother and Lady Stark's cold eyes. For a while, he was alone until he heard branches rustle around him.

"Jon," she called, stepping over the roots weaved into the ground. "Is everything alright?"

"No," he admitted without looking at her. She moved closer until she was sitting down beside him, so close that he could smell the cinnamon oil on her skin. "You don't have to..."

"What's wrong?" Dany asked, ignoring his weak protests at getting her to leave. "Theon?"

"Not him," he said, shaking his head. "It's Lady Stark."

"What happened?" Dany inquired, leaning towards him.

Jon hesitated. He knew Dany was close to Lady Stark, so he'd rather not talk to her about the older woman, but who else could he talk to? Robb and the others weren't an option. "She saw me with Arya in the yard encouraging her to use a sword. She was livid and said that I couldn't do anything right... I don't know what I've done to offend her so, but it makes me wonder about..." he trailed off, his stomach lurching at the word _mother_.

After all these years, Jon still didn't know much about his parents. Uncle Ned would start to tell him about his father, but then grow distant and excuse himself to continue his lordly duties. From the little he knew about his father, Brandon was a skilled swordsman who had the wolf blood and no trouble courting his mother. He was handsome according to some of the older maids and looked tremendously like Jon. That last bit of information always made him blush. Besides her incredible beauty and duties as a close companion to Elia of Dorne, his mother was a total mystery.

"Your mother left little of herself in you, Snow," noted Harwin one day.

"Do you know what she looked like?" Jon inquired.

"Never met her," the older man answered, much to his disappointment. "But I heard she had the same eyes as Daenerys."

Beside him, Daenerys put her hand above his right one. He turned his head to look at her and felt his heart thump inside his chest. "One day, Jon, Lady Catelyn will see past the name Snow and will see _you_."

"You think so?" he asked quietly. She didn't answer, but did not have to. All Jon had to do was stare into her purple eyes and find it.

 _She is the moon_ , thought Jon, gazing about her. Daenerys was the moon, always a shadow, only to shine bright when there was darkness. She was his moon, Robb's moon, Arya's moon... but did she think much of Jon to consider him her... anything?

"Jon?" she breathed, and Jon snapped out of his daze.

He turned away from her, embarrassed and confused. Why were his hands shaking? Could she hear how loud and fast his heart was beating?

"We should go inside," Jon suddenly said, his voice cracking a little. "We should avoid the kitchens. Last time I went through there, I caught Theon fucking a scullery maid."

"What?" Dany laughed. "You did not."

"It's true," he insisted, no longer abashed. "He had her bent over a table and—"

"Enough!" Dany exclaimed, tilting her head forward as she laughed. "I don't want to hear about Theon's rutting."

Jon chuckled and followed her out of the godswood. Not too long after they entered the castle, Robb found them. Grinning, he lowered his voice as he said, "Don't tell anyone, but I have a skin of sour red in my room."

"How did you get your hands on that?" Jon inquired, surprised.

"That doesn't matter," Robb said, waving a dismissive hand. "I've never had more than a cup of wine. We should drink it tonight."

"Why tonight?" Dany asked.

Robb shrugged. "Because Father is out of the castle and his solar will be empty—and I'm not drinking alone."

Jon wasn't sure if drinking a skin of sour red was a good idea, especially since Robb and Dany were younger than him, but this seemed like the perfect opportunity to spend time with them. Most of his days were spent honing his swordsmanship in the yard. Robb was there, but there wasn't much time to talk—unless Jon counted japes as talking. Dany was usually hiding from Septa Mordane in the library or stables.

"Alright," Jon agreed and Robb smiled widely. He couldn't help but return it. "If anyone catches us then I'm blaming you."

"Then I'm blaming Dany," Robb replied then laughed when Dany shoved him.

"Very unbecoming of you to blame a maiden for such an _improper_ deed," Dany said loftily. "This wine better be worth it, Robb."

Hours later, when the three of them met up in Uncle Ned's solar and lounged around by the dimly lit brazier, Dany deemed the wine worthless.

"You keep drinking it," Robb pointed out.

"Because _you_ insisted we do," she replied, passing the skin over to Jon. Her dewy face was flushed red from the wine. "Will you tell us where you got it from?"

"Theon got it from a maid who snuck it out of the kitchens," Robb answered, sprawling himself out on the floor.

"I'm surprised none of the maids are with child by now," Jon remarked, earning a snort from Robb. Jon tilted his head back as he swallowed a mouthful of sour red. His head felt light, his body unknotted, and his mind content. He welcomed this feeling as he reclined against his uncle's desk.

"Theon hasn't tumbled you, has he?" Robb asked, directing his question to Dany. He laughed loudly at the repulsed expression on her face. Jon was more relieved than amused that Dany hadn't shared a bed with the other ward.

Within the next hour, it became apparent to Jon that Dany could not handle her wine. She'd only taken four mouthfuls and was asleep with her head resting on his right thigh shortly afterwards. The lightness in his head hadn't left, but Jon wondered if he could go higher. Sharing with two other people limited his chances of finding out.

Robb's face was flushed like Dany's, but unlike her he hadn't passed out. He wore a reflective expression on his face, one that was a bit out of place on him, and remained silent on the floor. Robb was typically the one to keep a conversation going, but Jon supposed wine had different effects on people.

"Jon," he suddenly said. "Would you ever want to go back?"

"Go back where?" Jon asked, shifting slightly so not to disturb Dany.

"To Starfall."

Every time he thought of Starfall, his mind went blank. Uncle Ned mentioned it was on an island, but he could not remember. Part of Jon was glad he couldn't remember the castle. He was certain the place was filled with grief and Jon didn't need any more of that.

"There's nothing there for me," Jon eventually answered. "So why should I return there?"

Robb didn't reply instantly, but after a thoughtful moment said, "To see where your mother lived. Perhaps you'll even be given Arthur Dayne's sword."

Jon gave a short, mirthless laugh. "No one would give a bastard Dawn."

His cousin rolled over to his side to look at him. "You never know." He hesitated then added, "I'd go with you. Say when and I'll make the arrangements."

He turned his head to Robb, eyes widening from the earnest offer. Robb would travel across the Seven Kingdoms with him to see his mother's home. Swallowing thickly, Jon could only nod in response. Robb smiled at him before rolling onto his back. They settled into a comfortable silence for a long time until Robb mumbled about taking a piss and pushed himself off the floor.

Not too long after Robb disappeared to the privy, Jon decided it was best to get Dany back to bed. She shared a room with Arya and Sansa, but he doubted either of the girls would be awake. Gently, he shook Dany's shoulder until she groaned and lifted her head off his lap, squinting around the room.

"What time is it?" she asked, voice thick with sleep.

"Still night," he answered. His hand lingered above her head, tempted to tuck a lock of silvery hair behind her ear. He retracted it once Dany began sitting up. "Shall I escort you to your chambers?"

"If you do not mind," Dany said, smiling lazily at him. "Where's Robb?"

"Here," called the boy in question. Robb grinned as he returned from the privy. "You're awful to drink with."

"Piss off," she retorted, though there was no actual malice in her tone. "Take me to bed, Jon."

His vision blurred when he stood to his feet too fast. He placed his hand on the edge of the desk to steady himself before helping Dany to her feet. Her hand felt like the heated coals in a brazier, and Jon would have feared she was stricken with a fever if he didn't grow up with her.

"I wonder who's leading who," Robb remarked after Jon stumbled a little out of the solar.

Jon straightened and made sure each step of his was careful on their way to Dany's chambers. Thankfully, Dany hadn't lost her sense of coordination and kept up their pace. They stumbled to a halt when they heard two different voices at the end of the hall. Jon assumed they were guards. Frozen in their spot, Jon was unsure of where to turn to next. If they moved slowly, they could avoid confrontation. Yes, that would do. All Jon had to was edge out of the hall and—

The guards ceased talking and from the faint firelight, Jon could see them tilt their heads in his direction. If they saw Dany with him and Robb this late in the night, she would surely be sent away to Oldtown.

"Go," he whispered, waving his hand.

"But—"

"Just _go_ ," Jon insisted. Robb stared at him for a moment then nodded. Dany was reluctant to leave, but she startled him by leaning up to give him a rushed kiss on his cheek before retreating with Robb. Just as they turned the corner, the guards finally reached him.

"Oh, it's just Snow," one of them, Desmond, said. "What are you doing up?"

"I couldn't sleep," he answered sheepishly.

The other guard, Jory Cassel, smiled at him. "You were with a girl, weren't you?"

 _I was_ , thought Jon, but he said nothing. His silence was enough to make Jory laugh lightly and clap him on the shoulder, while Desmond shook his head. "Go to bed, Snow," the older guard ordered and Jon gladly hurried back to his room.

* * *

When a raven arrived from the riverlands inviting the Starks to a tourney at Riverrun, Dany feared Lord Stark would say no.

There had been several opportunities to attend different tourneys with most in the crownlands and westerlands, but the ones in the Reach and riverlands were the ones Dany wished to attend. She cared little for the actual tourneys, but longed to see a world outside the dreary castle of Winterfell. From Lady Stark's accounts of her childhood, Riverrun sounded beautiful. Thankfully, Lord Stark relented to his children's pleas and agreed to attend the tourney. Bran and Rickon were to stay behind, both too young to witness the violence of the tourney.

Dany would have been with Jon and Robb on the morning they were to leave, but Sansa and Arya had pulled her into their shared rooms, both bustling with excitement. She was only relieved they sought out her company together. The Stark girls never got along, though Dany supposed it had to do with their conflicting interests. She had no clue what she'd do if they didn't like her the way the boys did. Since they saw her as a big sister, it was often Dany who would brush and plait their hair when their mother was busy.

"Twist the side and leave the rest loose like you did for my last name day," instructed Sansa as she sat herself in front of her vanity. "Do you remember how you did it so well?"

"No," Dany admitted as she brushed Sansa's long, auburn hair. Sansa was pretty and painfully romantic, but Dany found her sweet and hoped nothing but the best for the young girl. "But I can try to remember."

"That's fine," the girl of eleven said, easily forgiving her. "Oh, Dany, do you think I'll meet a knight?"

"Don't be stupid. There will be plenty of knights there," answered Arya from where she bounced on her bed. She was a spitfire at only nine, willful and wild like a wolf. She was nicknamed "Arya Horseface" by Jeyne Poole, though Dany believed her beauty would grow with her.

"I mean a handsome one," huffed out Sansa. Her face turned dreamy as she thought of her lover. "One who's tall and comely and brave..."

"Certainly," Dany replied absently as she twisted a lock of hair. "Perhaps he'll crown you as his queen of love and beauty."

Sansa preened at that and gushed about her hair once Dany was finished. Dany looked behind her where Arya sat, her dark brown hair a tangled mess.

"Come, Arya," she said, motioning for her. "Your mother will have a fit if you go outside looking like this."

Reluctantly, Arya went over to her and took Sansa's seat. Aware they had a limited amount of time before Septa Mordane would come scolding them for not meeting with the rest of the Starks, Dany couldn't comb and brush Arya's hair as gently as she wanted to. The small girl wriggled in her seat, hissing in pain with each pull.

"Are you almost _done?_ " Arya demanded when Dany had untangled a difficult lock of hair.

"Yes." Dany managed to brush her hair clean and quickly braided her hair. "Do you like it?"

The storm looming in her grey eyes cleared and her long face brightened. Knowing Arya's boyish activities, the girl couldn't leave her hair unbounded without becoming a bird's nest, so she made sure to keep most her hair away from her face and in a tight plait to keep it presentable for her mother and their strict, bony septa.

"Yes," Arya answered, still smiling. "Come on! I want to leave already!"

Sansa rolled her eyes when Arya ran out of the room, but her pace did quicken as she followed her sister. Dany was the last out of the room and narrowly avoided Mordane as she left. As she turned around, she bumped into Theon. He smirked as she stumbled back and widened at her scowl.

"Everyone's waiting for you girls," he informed her. He offered his arm and she accepted. "I heard the riverlands is warm and that the women bare enough skin to frighten a septa."

"Oh?" was the only response Dany could offer.

"I wonder if Lady Stark will gift you with a gown light enough to keep you cool in such hot weather."

"I suppose she would be flattered that you concern yourself with such feminine matters."

Theon shot her a look. She gave him a challenging look.

She was amused by his implications and wished for him to get to the point. No doubt, he heard she flowered and was eager for a new lay, bored with the scullery maids and whores in winter town. Still, it bemused her why Theon would suddenly find her comely. Did she look less like a child? Was her unusual hair and odd eyes no longer so strange? Whatever drew him to her, Dany could not reciprocate—not that she wanted to. She couldn't get past his pretentious superiority or his dislike for Jon. He was decent enough when he wasn't acting like an ass.

 _He is handsome_ , she acknowledged, taking in his tall stature and his angular, muscled frame.

"The heat would be nice," Dany allowed, earning his attention. "And the riverlands is full of endless rivers. I would enjoy a swim."

Dany stifled her laughter as his dark eyes glazed over at the thought of her naked. She let go of his arm once they were outside, bounding over to where Robb and Jon stood by their horses, chatting excitedly about their trip.

"I heard Houses from the Reach and the Vale are attending the tourney," Robb told her once she neared.

"More competition if you are to enter the lists," Dany replied, grinning when he blanched. "No, Robb? I thought you favored jousting over all other arms."

"You jest," he realized with a frown. "You know how Father feels about riding in tournaments, Dany."

"Then how do you hope to meet your bride?" she questioned as she mounted her horse. "You own no silver tongue, so I doubt you plan on seducing her with your words."

Robb flushed red, while Jon laughed. He grumbled something about not even looking for a bride as he mounted his own horse, about to urge the animal away when Dany reached out to touch his arm.

"Do not fear, Robb, if you are in need of assistance in seeking your bride, I shall help you."

"I fear you will make things worse."

"You wound me."

"Wounded over the truth?"

"Jon will help," Dany decided, turning to the silent boy. "Won't you?"

"I'll wear your armor, Robb, and win the lists under your name," Jon assured them. His cousin snorted with laughter and the three of them spurred their horses ahead of the others.

* * *

The next morning after settling in Riverrun was the archery contest, with Theon entering against two Freys, a Blackwood, and a handful of men from the Vale and the Reach. Robb was confident his father's ward would win first place.

King Robert Baratheon was unable to make it to the tourney. His uncle Edmure had announced it at the feast the night before that there was an urgent matter in King's Landing that kept him from attending. Robb wasn't sure if his father was disappointed or not, unable to read him. He could see the relief on Dany's face, however, when she learned King Robert wouldn't be among them.

His parents declined watching the contest, leaving Robb to guide his siblings to the stands where they could cheer on Theon, though he doubted Jon would wager on him.

"Once I'm old enough, I'm going to enter the lists," announced Arya when they were settled in their seats.

Robb let out a startled laugh. He could imagine her stealing his or Bran's armor once she was older and entering the lists as some mysterious knight. Sansa opened her mouth, about to remind her that she was unable to when Jon responded, "You're too skinny."

"I am not!" Arya exclaimed, indignant.

"Are too, little one," Jon insisted. He took her arm and shook it lightly. "I doubt you could even lift a lance, never mind joust with one."

She pulled her arm out of his grasp and scowled when he grinned and Robb laughed.

"You'd make a better jouster than them, Arya," Dany remarked, ending all laughter from him and Jon. Arya and Sansa giggled at their silence.

"Hullen says I'm strong with the lance," Robb told her defensively. _Father just hates tournaments_ , he silently added. Not that he blamed his father for his disdain. Still, it did not mean he had to restrict Robb from entering.

The contest went on for two hours with Theon winning first place, smirking and accepting the thousands of golden dragons from Ser Edmure. Next was the melee that went on for hours until Lord Yohn Royce of Runestone defeated all other contestants. The man wore impressive bronze armor, thousands of years old with inscribed runes. Ser Edmure decreed that anyone riding in the lists would go tomorrow. His parents were still gone, but Robb had remembered his father saying they were going to visit his grandfather, Lord Hoster Tully.

"Bet they weren't expecting an ironborn to best them in archery," commented Theon as he joined them at their table.

"Squids do have sticky hands," retorted Jon and Arya laughed.

Before Theon could say a word, Dany leaned close to him and asked, "What do you plan to spend with your acquired coin, Theon?"

"Whores?" guessed Jon under his breath. Robb snickered as he elbowed him.

"That's none of your concern," Theon replied in a snappish voice.

"You were concerned with the clothes I own," Dany said in a familiar tone.

"I'm more concerned with the _lack_ of clothing you should own," Theon said, his smirk returning. Sansa's face burned red, while Jon coughed up his soup. "No gown will ever be as beautiful as you, so why bother to wear one?"

"Enough, Theon," Robb cut in. He masked uncomfortableness with an affable smile. "Who do you wager on for the lists?"

They discussed the lists as the courses came and went. Dany did not care for tourneys and did not participate in their discussion. Arya would sometimes mention an observation she made earlier during the archery contest and melee to Robb and the others before returning to her meal. Sansa was giddy and swept away by the day's events, telling them how excited she was to watch the jousts. There were no singers in the Great Hall much to Sansa's disappointment, but Robb was used to it. Singers weren't in high demand back in the north, or maybe not in Winterfell. Whenever the Umbers or Karstarks visited, they always brought a bard along to sing some bawdy song.

"Look," murmured Theon, nudging him. Robb followed his line of vision, startled to see a long-legged girl dressed in a revealing pale pink gown approach their table. If it weren't for her pinched, chinless face, she would have stirred something within him.

"Are you Theon Greyjoy?" asked the girl, her voice breathless.

"I am." Theon lifted his cup. Deft were his dark eyes as they ogled the girl's chest without her knowledge. "And you are, my lady?"

"Amerei Frey," she introduced, smiling widely. "I watched you today. You were splendid."

"You flatter me," he said, his smile widening.

"I am exhausted by today's events. Could you perhaps walk me back to my tent?" Amerei questioned, swaying her hips. Theon glanced at Robb, flashed him a wink, and stood to eagerly follow the girl out of the Great Hall.

Nothing was said until Jon quipped, "At least he's not in the kitchens."

Robb couldn't suppress his own laughter. Each of them had caught Theon with a scullery maid at least once, each time leading to them learning about coupling.

Dany stood abruptly from the table and announced, "I feel a sudden need to dance."

"You plan on dancing with who?" Jon inquired, curiosity plain on his face.

"No one," Dany answered blithely.

"You cannot dance alone," giggled Sansa.

"I can," she replied, and there was something defiant in her tone. "I just choose not to."

"I'll dance with you," Robb offered, standing with her. He tilted his head when he noticed the bored look on Arya's face. "Arya, there's a godswood around here. Mayhaps praying would interest you more than being inside?"

His sister blinked and it took a minute for her to understand what he meant. She grinned and hopped out of her seat, evading lords and ladies as she ran out of the hall. Sansa turned sharply to Robb.

"Why would you tell her to go outside alone?" she questioned, frowning.

"Feasts and dances are dull to her," Robb answered, shrugging. "Would you like to keep an eye on her?"

Sansa opened her mouth to protest, but Jon spoke for her. "No, she should stay. I'll go keep Arya company."

He made to go, but Sansa grabbed his arm, distressed. "Not all of you can leave me here alone!" she exclaimed. "No one has asked _me_ to dance."

"If you wish to dance, you could have asked Robb or me," Jon told her.

"I will not share my first dance with my _family_ ," Sansa said, offended.

"Are you expecting Florian to ask for your hand?" Robb teased. He laughed when Sansa narrowed her eyes at him. "I suppose it's getting late. The hall is emptying. Shall we return to our rooms?"

Jon and Dany left to find Arya, while Robb offered his arm to his sister and headed out of the Great Hall. As they withdrew with the other guests, Robb accidentally bumped into someone. He paused to touch their shoulders to steady them, only "them" happened to be a girl. She wore a tight-fitted gown of marigold samite. Her long, brown hair tumbled over her shoulders and down her back in loose, thick ringlets.

When she lifted her eyes to stare into his, Robb was rendered speechless.

Her eyes were brown, but it was not the color that left him incapable of speech. It was how exquisite they were. So gentle and soft, yet he could see a hidden sharpness to them. She continued to appraise him, nothing like the shy looks the serving maids gave him back in Winterfell.

Robb remembered his hands on her and immediately dropped them.

"Forgive me, my lady," he forced himself to say. "After you."

"You are too kind," she murmured, her lips curving into a dimpled smile. "I have not had the honor of knowing your name."

"I'm Robb Stark. This is my sister Sansa," he said, hoping his voice wouldn't crack. "Who are you?"

"Margaery Tyrell," she told him. For a moment, her smile seemed coquettish, but then she turned away and left with some girls who he presumed were her family.

He watched her go, unable to move from where he stood until he felt a tug at his arm. He had nearly forgotten about Sansa.

"What?" he asked, frowning as she smiled at him.

"Nothing," she sang. His frown deepened, but decided against pursuing that discussion. After all, his mind could only think of Margaery Tyrell and her smile.

* * *

Margaery had always been told she was pretty. "Pretty like a rose," Renly Baratheon always said, when he came with Loras to visit. There were even songs about her loveliness back in Highgarden. The stable boys would flush and stammer whenever she smiled and asked them to help her mount her horse. The only person who refused to compliment her was her grandmother.

"You're pretty enough, but there is someone far prettier than you living in a different castle," the Queen of Thorns once told her. "Oh, don't give me that look. You're a clever lass and only girls with our shrewd minds attract men with Lannister coin."

Margaery knew that was true, that you must be quick-witted to play the game of thrones, but she could not ignore the sting she felt when Robb Stark shared his first dance with Daenerys Targaryen the evening after the jousts.

She never expected to find herself intrigued by a Northern boy. She heard plenty of rumors about the men in the North, that they were rapers who transformed into wild beasts in the night as well as stiff lords with cold water in their veins. Robb Stark was nothing like the gossip. He was kind, handsome—so handsome, and a bit shy. The way he had stared at her... no boy had ever looked at her like that.

If she were being practical, she would have dismissed it as him acting courteous, but it was just his eyes.

"The eyes never lie," Lady Taena Merryweather once told her, when a conversation had inevitably turned to men and romance.

 _Did his eyes lie?_ Margaery wondered, watching as Robb Stark danced with Daenerys Targaryen. The fallen princess wore a confection in deep purple samite, her silvery hair braided loosely down her back. Margaery could not compete with her breathtaking beauty, no one possibly could. Did she hold Robb Stark's heart between her dragon claws?

As she pondered this, she did not notice Robb Stark striding towards her. Her cousin Elinor gave her a subtle nudge with her elbow, while Megga grinned at her knowingly. Margaery looked up when he was right in front of her. For a moment, all she could do was stare into those deep blue eyes.

"Will you dance with me, my lady?" he finally said, smiling bashfully.

"I am honored." Margaery took his hand and was led to the floor.

"I wasn't expecting your brother to win the lists," Robb said conversationally.

"Garlan's skills with the lance are marvelous," she replied proudly. "He's quite skilled with the sword as well, but my other brother Loras tends to steal the glory."

"Loras didn't attend this tourney, did he?"

"He remains fostered at Storm's End with Renly Baratheon."

Robb nodded and they danced in silence for a while. He proved to be a magnificent partner, fast on his feet and still hands instead of roaming her figure like some of those randy lords-in-waiting. Her breath caught in her throat when Robb twirled her and pulled her back, so close that their bodies were mere inches apart before continuing their dance.

Many highborn girls would simper and parrot the compliments their mothers ingrained in their empty little heads, swelling the vanity and pride of already arrogant lords and lords-in-waiting. Margaery, however, was taught to keep a man on his toes.

"I have heard that your father brought your cousin to the tourney," Margaery commented, choosing her words carefully. She knew instantly from his smile at the mention of his bastard cousin that he was close to him.

"Jon Snow," he affirmed, nodding. "He's my best friend."

"My mother says he favors his father. You take after your uncle, Ser Edmure," Margaery told him. She smiled coyly and reached up to touch his cheek, her fingertips grazing over his jawline. "But you are so much more handsome."

To her amusement, his hand fumbled on her waist and he lost his footing.

"I would have named you as my queen of love and beauty," Robb confessed towards the end of their song.

"Not Daenerys Targaryen?" she couldn't help ask.

He blinked then shook his head, chuckling. "She's like my sister."

Relief filled Margaery then. The Dragon Princess was never her rival, and besides her and the Queen, there was no one who matched Margaery in terms of loveliness and charm.

"There are gardens here, I think," Robb said when their song ended. "Would you like to go see them?"

"With you?" she inquired, suppressing a smile when he blushed and nodded. When she glanced back at her table on their way out of the Great Hall, Megga and Elinor were making ridiculous faces. She rolled her eyes at them before focusing on Robb. "We have beautiful gardens in Highgarden, with fields of roses and an array of fruit. My favorite are peaches. Do you have a garden in Winterfell?"

"We have a glass greenhouse," he answered as they walked through the empty corridor. "It's just to grow fruit and vegetables, but we do have blue winter roses."

"I've never seen a winter rose," Margaery said, excitement coloring her tone. She had a fondness for flowers and growing up in Highgarden, she was surrounded the most beautiful of plants. Blue roses were one of the few flowers that grew in her gardens.

"You could, if you come to Winterfell and visit me," Robb remarked nonchalantly. He stiffened beside her when he realized what he said. "Would you visit me?"

"If you will have me," she breathed, ignoring the quickening pace of her heart.

"I would have you," Robb told her. His voice had gone an octave lower and it made her shiver. Margaery nearly jumped when his fingers brushed against hers. Silently, she berated herself for acting like this was the first time a boy held her hand.

 _He's no ordinary boy_ , she thought.

The boys she teased worked in the stables or the gardens. Light touches, chaste kisses, whispers of things she knew would get their blood hot. Margaery found it both amusing and liberating to see how eager these boys were to win her favor. If she played this right, she could secure a betrothal tonight. Margaery supposed it was too bad for Robb that she wasn't interested in marriage at the moment.

That didn't mean she still couldn't have fun with him.

When his fingertips touched hers again, she twined her fingers through his, giving it a squeeze. Looking up from under her lashes, she gave him a coy smile. Eyes widening, Robb returned her smile with a sheepish one of his own. Swinging their hands lightly, they continued their stroll to the garden in silence. The air outside was cool, different from the constant humidity in Highgarden.

Robb paused to pluck a pink chrysanthemum from a nearby bush. "For you," he murmured, tucking it behind her ear. "The first flower for your crown."

Margaery laughed, the sound more genuine than the ones she forced out to pesky relatives and visiting lords. Robb's smile widened and he looked down at his feet. "Forgive me for wanting you indulge me, but could you give me another gift?" she asked, staring at him.

"And that would be?"

"A kiss."

His jaw went slack, but he quickly closed it. He hesitated before finally nodding. There was a fluttering in the pit of her belly, a ripple of excitement going through her when he finally ducked his head to kiss her. It was clumsy and uncertain, but undoubtedly sweet. She realized the minute they pulled away for air that he had never kissed anyone before. That only endeared him more to her.

"Kiss me again," Margaery whispered.

"Again?" Robb echoed, his pale face flushed.

"Yes." She leaned towards him to capture his lips with her own.

* * *

For the rest of the night, Jon spent his time observing the guests in the Great Hall.

The Tyrells were a rowdy table, one in particular being a plump girl who looked about Sansa's age. The Freys were drinking with the Darry men, while the Blackwoods table were displeased. The Rygers held a drinking contest across the room, and men from different Houses participated. Jon thought he saw Ser Edmure amongst the men, but lost interest.

To entertain himself, he and Arya decided to see who was stealthier by stealing things from nearby tables. So far, no one noticed. Arya could have been the perfect thief with her small frame. Between their thievery, Sansa accepted dances from different lords-in-waiting. A blonde squire from the Vale had asked Dany for a dance an hour after her song with Robb ended and annoyingly enough she _accepted_.

"I'm an awful influence on you," Jon laughed when she returned with a grand chalice.

"Why? This is so more fun than dancing," Arya said, reaching for a green grape.

"You'll be an outlaw by the end of the night," he replied and felt a swell of fondness for her when she grinned. "Like Wenda the White Fawn."

"Wenda was beautiful," she stated, widening her eyes.

"You're beautiful too," Jon offered. He reached over to tousle her hair. "A pretty thief is the worst kind."

Arya was quiet for a moment before announcing she'd steal a bottle of wine from the Piper table. Jon watched her go, hoping she wouldn't get into too much trouble. He surveyed the floor, furrowing his brow when he noticed Robb was _still_ missing. Theon was gone, but so was Amerei Frey, so Jon doubted Robb went off to join the older boy.

"Have you seen Robb?" Jon asked when Sansa returned to the table after dancing with Lucas Blackwood.

"No," she said, breathless. "Perhaps he's with Lord Mace's daughter. He seemed besotted with her."

"Are you enjoying yourself?" Jon questioned, taking in his cousin's flushed cheeks and radiant smile.

He half listened to Sansa's rapid recount of how gallant Ser Garlan Tyrell truly was or how handsome Harrold Hardyng looked—the same squire who danced with Dany. Those two seemed to be her favorites out of the few other boys who asked her for a dance. Jon would have commented about Hardyng's nose, but realized he would have sounded jealous.

Dany wandered over to their table not too long after Sansa sat down, her hair tousled from the hours of dancing. She leaned down to whisper something to Sansa and they ended up giggling. When their giggles subsided, Dany went over to Jon and grasped his hands, tugging him out of his chair.

"Dance with me," she insisted.

"Okay." He followed her to the floor and hoped she couldn't feel how his hands trembled. "It seems you found a suitor."

"I doubt he wants to wed me," Daenerys replied, amused. "He reminds me of Theon."

His breath stilled when he felt her cheek rest against his chest, swaying gently to the slow, longing music.

"I fear I am a tired partner for your first dance," she murmured.

"That's fine," Jon said, touching the small of her spine. "I just wanted to dance with you."

She tilted her head upwards and smiled lazily. "Are you courting me, Jon?"

He laughed, startled by her question. "No," he answered eventually, "but I'm sure Harrold Hardyng was courting you even if you failed to see that."

Her laughter was muffled in his doublet. "He wasn't looking to wed me and even if he were… I offer him nothing. My maidenhead is still intact yet I'm already soiled."

"Well." Jon let his arm move up so his fingers could thread themselves through the part of her hair that wasn't braided. "If I were courting you, it wouldn't be for your lands or coin. It'd be for you."

Dany was silent, but then she stood upon the tips of her toes and he felt her lips brush against his cheek. She lingered there, her lips on his skin, before pulling back. His face _burned_ , but that didn't compare to the fire burning in her eyes as she gazed about him.

"Maybe I should just wed _you_ and we can live happily ever after, like in the songs Sansa loves," she proposed softly.

"I would love that," Jon replied, for once not thinking of his status.

"And you would love me, even when I'm a dried up old crone?"

Jon laughed loudly at that.

"I cannot imagine you as anything else but as how you are now," he admitted as his laugh quieted down.

"Would you, though?" she asked.

"Of course," Jon answered then added in a decisive voice, "Always."

And that was no lie.

* * *

 **A/N:** So, I consider book!Margaery to be a chameleon. She plays the role she's given perfectly and is implied to be smarter than she acts. I hope you guys like the Jon and Dany interactions, as well as the Robb and Margaery ones.


	4. Chapter IV

**VI.**

It felt like a slap to the face when Daenerys returned to the dreary north. Gone was the warmth and sun of Riverrun, but the cool and eternally cold Winterfell. On most days, Dany could tolerate it, but after seeing what life was outside of Winterfell, she only felt a more restless desire to leave. Her affection for Jon Snow and the Starks kept that desire from swelling.

Their trip to Riverrun seemed to stir something within Jon and Robb. Both practiced relentlessly in the yard and Dany guessed it had to do with participating in the next tourney if Lord Stark permitted it. By the time the sun was low in the sky, they would be sore and beyond tired from their training. Neither were much entertaining company when half awake, so Dany found herself spending more time with the girls or in the library.

"Mordane will not appreciate you disregarding her lessons," chided a familiar voice.

Dany lifted her head, wincing from the stiffness in her neck. A small smile adorned her face when she realized it was just Luwin, the maester in service of the Starks.

"I'm sure you'd appreciate my company more," replied Dany, earning a smile from the small grey man. She had been reading heartily the work of Archmaester Gramyon on the floor in the library; specifically, Remnants of the Dragonlords.

"True as that may be, it is not my duty to tutor you in the womanly arts," reminded Maester Luwin.

"You mean it isn't your duty to tutor me in something so tedious and boring," she corrected, frowning at the thought of sitting in the room for hours stitching something Septa Mordane would only criticize her on afterwards. Dany's stitches were mediocre at best, while Arya's were crooked and Sansa's were beyond perfection.

Her mind drifted to dragons and she asked, suddenly, "Have you ever seen a dragon?"

The maester tugged at the chain clinging to his neck, so tight Dany sometimes wondered how he could breathe. "Dragons are gone, my lady," he answered, perplexed. "Have been for more than a century and a half ago."

"Everywhere?" she asked, disappointed. When he nodded, she frowned. "Do you know of any books on dragons?"

Maester Luwin frowned, but went to find some for her. Dany moved the tome off her lap and stood to her feet to stretch her stiff limbs. She walked over to the window, leaning out to look over the castle, only to be met with a mop of thick auburn hair. She jumped back, laughing when she saw it was only Bran.

She watched him scamper through the window, flopping down on the floor once he was successfully safe inside.

"Your mother will kill you if she catches you," Dany commented.

"Septa Mordane will kill you before Mother does," replied Bran, pushing himself off the floor. "I heard her complaining about you. She thinks you're well on your way to becoming a wildling."

Dany laughed lightly at that. "Arya is more wildling than I am," she said, smiling.

"What are doing here anyways?" Bran inquired, staring at her with thoughtful blue eyes.

"Reading," she answered then added as an afterthought, "about dragons."

His eyes brightened at the mention of the mythical creatures. Out of all his siblings, Bran enjoyed Old Nan's hearth tales the most.

"Can I read with you?" he asked.

"Of course." She smiled and walked over to the bench with him.

As they waited for Maester Luwin to gather the books, Dany imagined an enormous dragon spreading its wings so wide it blocked out the sun as it took flight. She pictured herself mounted on its back, the sun warm on her skin only to be cooled by the wind gusting about her. Dany could go anywhere with a dragon. The Reach, Dorne, Pentos, and perhaps even Old Valyria. She knew of the Doom that haunted Valyria, but she always wondered if entering the ruins would give her the answers everyone was too reluctant to answer.

"You would never have to climb again if you owned a dragon," Daenerys told Bran.

"Why climb when you can fly?" Bran said brightly. "It's too bad they're all gone."

"Yes, it's too bad," she agreed wistfully.

* * *

It started normal—or as normal as he could get considering he was a ward living in a foreign land. The morning dawned clear and cold. He and twenty men had set forth at daybreak to see a man beheaded. Bran, the second trueborn son of Lord Stark, rode among them for the first time, finally deemed old enough to go with his father and brother to see the king's justice done. Theon rode with Lord Stark to beheadings from the time he was taken from his home at ten and handing the sword "Ice" to the executioner at thirteen.

The beheading went on as usual, lacking its usual cries and curses from the men on the receiving end. Today it was a deserter from the Night's Watch, an old scrawny man not much taller than Robb. Lord Stark took off the man's head with a single stroke and the decapitated head rolled up near Theon's feet. He laughed, finding the man's widened eyes amusing, and kicked it away.

Often afterwards, they would return back to the castle, but today Jon Snow called their attention to something. He shouted and waved down at them from the crest of the hill before them. Theon didn't hesitate to spur his black stallion Smiler over to where Snow and Robb had gone. They found Robb near the riverbank, knee-deep in snow and cradling something in his arm. Then Theon's eyes went to the thing on the ground.

"Gods!" Theon exclaimed, reaching for his sword. "What in the seven hells is it?"

"A wolf," Robb told him.

"A freak," Theon said. "Look at the size of it."

Half-buried in bloodstained snow, a huge dark shape was slumped in death. Ice had formed in its shaggy grey fur and the smell of death clung to it like a woman's perfume. It was bigger than Bran's pony and twice the size of the largest hound in Stark's kennel.

"It's no freak," Snow said evenly. "That's a direwolf. They grow larger than the other kind."

Theon was not impressed. Snow liked to think he knew more than everyone, but he was still a green boy whether he liked it or not.

"There's not been a direwolf sighted south of the Wall in two hundred years," he reminded the bastard.

"I see one now," Jon replied.

Robb, Snow, and Bran wanted to keep the pups, but Lord Stark was reluctant. Theon did not blame him. Beasts like those belonged in the wild or dead before they could do harm. Despite much protest from their party, Lord Stark relented and allowed his boys to keep the five pups. When they were halfway across the bridge, Snow suddenly galloped back to where the dead direwolf lay dead in the snow and came back with a white direwolf in his arms.

"An albino," Theon said, with wry amusement. "This one will die even faster than the others."

Snow gave him a long, chilling look. "I think not, Greyjoy," he said. "This one belongs to me."

Theon blinked back in surprise then sneered at him. _Pompous bastard_ , he thought.

Returning to the castle of Winterfell, Theon followed Robb to the kitchens where they managed to frighten the servants with the beasts in their arms. Bran went to retrieve his sisters and little brother Rickon. Daenerys and Lady Stark were with the others when Bran came back, all of them gasping at the sight of the pups. Theon couldn't help but smirk when he felt Daenerys lean against the wall beside him.

"Are they...?" she started to ask, staring at the pups in wonderment.

"Direwolves, yes," he answered, crossing his arms. "Robb found them at the riverbank after the execution."

"And their mother?"

"Dead. Killed by a stag."

Daenerys was silent, watching as the Starks argued over what to name their direwolves. He instead looked at her, admiring the exquisiteness of her eyes, the bone structure of her face, the fullness of her lips. Gods, those lips... he often dreamt of tasting them. It was maddening how near she could be yet so far from his reach.

He hadn't cared much for her when they first met. She was a little girl, unable to participate in their practice of the arms. Then there was her queer affection for Snow, the dour bastard. She was always with him, not that Theon wished to spend any more time alone with the bastard than he needed to, so he usually dismissed her. As she grew older, however, there was something captivating about her. She had enough manners and grace to impress a lord visiting yet there was a hint of defiance to her, and that defiance often aroused him.

"There weren't enough for you to have one, Dany," said Robb apologetically.

"A Targaryen with a direwolf?" Theon said derisively. "That would be a sight."

"More than you with a squid?" she retorted, earning a quiet laugh from Snow.

"It's a kraken and you know it," he hissed, his cravings for her receding. He enjoyed her defiance when it wasn't directed towards _him_.

Theon lingered a while longer before slipping out of the kitchens. He went to his room where he took some copper and silver coins out of the sack he won from the Tourney at Riverrun. His urge to fuck was overwhelming. Theon oftentimes ached for the warm clutch of a woman's cunt, believing that was where heaven lied. When his urge to fuck came from Daenerys, he found himself needing to head to the brothel in winter town, away from her and the Starks.

 _Damn her_ , Theon thought, resentful. Damn her and damn that bastard Snow for keeping her for himself.

* * *

Three days after he received the letter inviting him to Winterfell, Benjen Stark sought out Maester Aemon. He found him up in the rookery, feeding the ravens.

"Afternoon, maester," Ben greeted, "how are our ravens?"

"Well fed," the ancient man answered. "Clydas, would you leave us?"

The hunched, pink-eyed brother put down his bucket of chopped meat and left them. Ben moved to stand beside Maester Aemon, watching the ravens peck at their meal.

"I came to see if you wanted me to deliver a message for your niece," Ben explained, watching as the biggest raven in the cage devoured the raw meat.

"How considerate of you, Ben," Maester Aemon said yet his genial words did not soften the contemplative look on his aged face. "I fear I am compelled to write to my young niece. I believe she's thirteen now. Ready for the gift I must gift entrust to her."

"Gift?" Ben repeated, bewildered.

Maester Aemon finished feeding the birds in silence. Once he completed his task, Ben helped him from the rookery to the adjoining solar. He led Ben to a cedar chest nearly hidden in the back of the room. After all the times he visited Maester Aemon's solar, Ben never noticed it until now.

"Open that," the maester said. Ben did as he was told, crouching down to open the dusty chest. His breath was caught in his throat at the sight of what was inside.

Three giant eggs sat in a velvet nest. One was a pale cream streaked with gold, another a deep green with burnished bronze flecks, and the last as black as midnight yet it rippled scarlet. They were beautiful and felt so out of place in this world. Seconds passed before Ben picked one up—the black one alive with scarlet—and as he turned it between his fingers, it shimmered like polished metal in the light of the candle burning in the solar. It was heavier than he expected.

Ben never believed such treasures still existed and he has seen queer things beyond the Wall.

"Where did you get these?" Ben asked, astounded.

"My nephew," Maester Aemon told him. Ben did not need his name. "Before he perished, he managed to buy these eggs from a Volantenese merchant. He must have known his fate because a year before the war, he had Jon Connington deliver the eggs to me."

Ben held the egg in his hands for another moment then returned it to its nest. "You want me to deliver these eggs to Daenerys."

The maester hummed in response.

He closed the chest and turned to face the elder man. "A lovely gift. Might I ask the occasion?"

"Daenerys deserves the eggs more than I do. Rhaegar was _her_ brother," Maester Aemon replied softly. "I'll have Chett give you my letter once I finish it. You have my thanks, Ben."

Ben nodded, taking one last look at the chest carrying the eggs and ignored the chill that settled in his belly.

* * *

 _I'm going to die._

Daenerys was going to die. No, the Usurper wouldn't execute her without humiliating her even more. He would shackle her in chains and parade her through the streets of King's Landing before publicly executing her.

Lord Stark had come to her before he made the announcement in the Great Hall. He assured her that the Usurper wouldn't kill her or imprison her back in King's Landing. Dany wasn't naïve. The older she became, the more of a threat she posed to him. She just wasn't sure _how_ she posed a threat. Theon liked to tease her about her height and delicate frame, so that proved she couldn't physically harm the Usurper. Then there was her lack of possessions. Everything she owned were gifts from the Starks.

She lived in her own world here in the North, but with the news of the Baratheons and Lannisters visiting Winterfell proved to be an awakening for her. She wouldn't be Dany to the visitors, but Daenerys Targaryen, daughter of Mad Aerys. The Usurper could order her death anytime during his stay and she was powerless to stop him.

That fact alone made her cry.

The sun nearly disappeared below the horizon and Dany knew that once the orange sky faded to dark blue, the air would become chillier. Although she hated the cold, she hated being seen at her weakest more. She refused for Sansa or Arya to catch her sobbing in their room. The godswood was the only place she could be alone—even if only for a little while.

The sound of a twig cracking made Dany sit up and choke back her sobs. The Usurper may have taken everything from her, but he wouldn't have her pride. Leaning over the small pool, Dany scooped up a handful of cold black water and washed the tears from her face. She managed to abate her cries by the time the person reached her. Relief filled her when it was Jon.

"You missed supper," Jon said as he joined her on the ground. "Did my uncle tell you before everyone else?"

"He must have feared I would make a scene at the news," Dany said quietly. "Where's your pup?"

"He's not too far." Jon gave her a concerned look. "Your eyes are red. Are you alright?"

She was reluctant to speak and Jon wouldn't pressure her to, but the worry on his face made her willing to talk. "Lord Stark says nothing will happen to me, but… would he truly go against his king?"

"He's protected you since you were born," he reminded her. "And if he won't, I will."

Dany looked at him, searching his dark eyes to see if he meant it. Jon's promises were solemn and always kept. She turned away from his gaze, grasping a handful of grass and squeezing tight to keep the tears from falling.

"Don't say such foolish things," she eventually said. "You would challenge Robert Baratheon to save me?"

"Of course I would." He sounded hurt. "I couldn't live with myself if you…"

Jon trailed off and when she looked at him, his pale face was flushed. She let go of the grass and turned her body to face him. Wasn't that what every girl wanted? A lover to risk his life for theirs? Dany supposed most girls would have cooed at that, but she wanted to save them both.

"We could run away," Dany suggested, keeping her tone light.

"Where to? Beyond the Wall and join the wildlings?" Jon questioned, his smile teasing.

She pushed him, smiling despite herself. "I hear it's colder there than here," she remarked when Jon stopped chuckling.

His knuckles brushed against her cheek, rubbing into her skin until she slapped his arm away. "Fine. You hate the cold so we shall escape to the Free Cities. We'll find your brother and go on adventures."

"That sounds wonderful," Dany admitted, "but I won't steal you from your cousins. They'd miss you too much."

"They'd miss you too," Jon replied softly.

Dany looked at him, taking in his long, boyish face and black hair curling over his earlobes. The younger maids weren't shy to comment on the looks of both Jon and Robb. They seemed to prefer Robb, and Dany could see the appeal. His high cheekbones and deep blue eyes could make a maiden swoon, but she felt nothing more than sisterly affection for him. She supposed the maids found Jon unapproachable, but then again, not everyone got to see him smile and Dany meant _truly_ smile. The kind of smile that lit up his eyes and softened his somber face.

 _Has he ever kissed anyone?_ Dany wondered, glancing at his lips. Jon was older than her by three years so he _must_ have kissed someone. The thought of him kissing another girl nauseated her, but that unsettled her even more. Why would it bother her? They were nothing more than friends.

"Have you kissed anyone yet?" Dany asked. She needed to know so this odd feeling would depart.

The question clearly startled him and it took him a moment to answer. "No…" Jon suddenly found the grass more interesting, and she couldn't deny her relief at his answer.

"Why not?"

"Why? I don't know, Dany. No one's showed interest."

"Kiss me then."

Jon froze, and Dany wasn't sure where this boldness came from. Septa Mordane taught her that ladies were supposed to save their lips and maidenhoods for their husbands, but would she ever have a husband? Harrold Hardyning may have showed her interest at the tourney, but he would never consider her as a potential bride. Jon Snow was her friend. He didn't care that she was undesired by all of Westeros. Her face burned as she imagined kissing Jon. That strange feeling never departed and instead anchored itself inside her.

"Kiss me so you can say you kissed a girl," she goaded, choosing to ignore the swirl of confusing feelings.

He stared at her, a thousand emotions flickering across his face before slowly nodding. His hands went up to cup her face, fingers threading through her hair to the back of her neck. Jon was slow and careful as he kissed her until their kiss deepened and his tongue brushed lower lip. He started to pull back, an apologetic look on his face, but Dany careened forward and kissed him again. She let him press his tongue inside her mouth and she sucked on it, shuddering at the rough sound Jon made.

Both were breathing heavily when finally, she ducked her head to press her face against the base of his throat.

"Thank you, Jon," she murmured, face burning and heart hammering. "I… you make me feel better."

"You make me feel better too," Jon said, and Dany lifted her face to look at him. His pupils were blown and he gazed about her with such an intensity it should have frightened her, but it did the opposite. He leaned forward, giving her a soft kiss on her forehead. As he lingered there, something soft and unfamiliar unfurled across her heart. "You'll be fine. You're Daenerys Stormborn, remember?"

She remembered.

"You're..." Jon leaned back, thinking. "You're the blood of the dragon. Isn't that a saying from your House? Blood of the dragon?"

"I'm the blood of the dragon," Dany repeated, embarrassed she forgot it. "I'm the blood of the dragon and a dragon is no slave."

She was Daenerys Stormborn, daughter of dragons, bride of dragons. She would fear no stag.

* * *

Cersei Lannister detested the north.

There was nothing here in this bleak land except bogs and forest and fields. She hadn't seen a soul as they traveled to Winterfell, and found none of the inns acceptable. Then there was her dwarf brother tagging along, his curiosity getting the better of him. What was worse was Robert's merriness throughout their trip, his excitement tripling the closer they drew to his childhood friend's castle.

The wheelhouse slowed and Cersei realized they were to stay in another inn. She opened her mouth to protest as she flung the door open, but Jaime touched her hand as he helped her and the children out, silencing her.

"His Grace says this is the last inn we'll be staying in until we reach Winterfell," he told her. "No need to get yourself worked up, sweet sister."

"I'd rather we keep moving than stay in another shoddy inn," Cersei groused, surveying the inn coolly. She frowned when she caught Myrcella and Tommen tasting the falling snow with their tongues.

Jaime followed her gaze and smiled at them. "Ah, I remember when we were children and we'd jump off the cliffs of Casterly Rock."

She remembered when she was a child, how she would spend her days swimming in the ocean with Jaime or playing with her porcelain dolls. The memory of watching Prince Rhaegar play his silver-stringed harp with those long, elegant fingers of his triumphed all others. Had a man ever been so beautiful? She was ten when she finally met her silver prince and wept when she heard one of his songs. There was a sadness in his eyes and Cersei silently promised she would be the one to heal him once she became his queen.

 _Aye. Queen you shall be... until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear_ , a familiar voice croaked.

The thought of meeting Mad Aerys's remaining child brought a cold, unsettling feeling inside Cersei. She was curious of course. The girl must have inherited her brother's divine looks. Cersei dismissed the thought. There would be no girl more beautiful than Cersei, especially one who was barely a woman.

 _The dragonspawn shall learn her place_ , Cersei decided.

Later that night when she and Robert were alone in their room, Cersei swallowed back her revulsion for her fat bastard of a husband and straddled him. The sudden movement took him by surprise yet he accepted it, disregarding how she dismissed him every time he tried to pry her legs apart. Men were all the same when a woman came to them wet and willing.

"What are you plans for the Targaryen girl?" she asked as she rocked her hips against him, stifling a shudder when she felt his cock become half erect.

"Nothing," grunted Robert, grasping her hips to pull her close until her breasts were in his face. He used his teeth to pull the straps of her shift down to expose her chest. "I don't want her in my sight."

He tried to kiss her, but Cersei tilted her head so his lips met her throat instead. "Might I suggest something?" she husked and Robert's chest rumbled with arousal. "You need to show that dragon bitch that you own her. She may be Targaryen, but she no longer rules this land. You do."

"What are you saying?" Robert asked gruffly, never taking his lips off her nipple.

Cersei shifted, uncomfortable with his mouth on her, but she forced herself to endure it. If one night with Robert meant teaching that dragonspawn her place in this world, then so be it.

"If she has enough sense then I am certain she fears you, Robert. Have her in your sights at all times. Better yet have my brother Jaime watch her," Cersei advised, making sure to grasp his cock and guide him inside her. Robert was always more pliable when he was in the throes of passion. "I promise you, my husband, seeing the fear in her eyes will bring you more satisfaction than beheading her."

Yes, Cersei could see it now. A pale, silver-haired girl cowering back in fear as her brother, her beautiful brother, stood before her with the sword he killed Aerys. That would obliterate all traces of defiance in that little girl.

Robert groaned when she grounded herself above him. "Show her you that you're her king," she breathed, rocking forward. "You're the king, Robert. You own her."

Those three words undid him. Robert spent himself inside her shortly afterwards, and it sickened her. She would need to speak to the Starks' maester about concocting moon tea. Her thoughts of removing a possible child were interrupted when Robert groused, "I promised Ned I wouldn't kill the bitch, but do what you must."

Cersei smiled.

It was the first time since they began their journey to the north that she felt eager to arrive to Winterfell.

* * *

Sansa could not keep still.

The visitors were to arrive in scant hours and Winterfell never felt more lively. She hadn't left her room since she woke up, but she could hear the bustling of the maids and stewards rushing to perfect the castle. Sansa herself was deciding between wearing a gown of Stark colors or one of Tully. She needed to make a good impression on the king and his family, _especially_ the prince.

She supposed it was best to wear her House colors when formally meeting the royals, so she decided on the grey wool gown trimmed in silver satin. No maids were able to help Sansa into her gown and Daenerys seemed too distracted, so she managed to get it on before eventually requesting the older girl's help with the buttons and lacing. When Dany finished, Sansa stood and searched through Dany's gowns. Neither of them owned much formal gowns, but Sansa figured that if Dany _used_ to be a princess she could still dress like one.

"Wear this," Sansa suggested, presenting a gown of plum satin and lace to bring out the violet in her eyes.

"The Us—Baratheon doesn't wish to see me," Dany said, creasing her eyebrows.

"But if he _does_ then you should look your best," Sansa told her, shaking the gown. "You never dress up, Dany. You would look so pretty in it."

Dany hesitated, glancing out the window before taking the gown from Sansa's hands. Dany smiled at the squeal Sansa released and allowed her to dress her. "You're always helping me with my gowns and hair. Let me help this time," Sansa insisted.

"You're a sweet girl, Sansa," Dany murmured, demurer than usual.

When her hair shone like molten silver and her wrists adorned the golden bracelets crusted with amethysts gifted from a magister in Pentos, Sansa could not deny that Dany was resplendent nor ignore the whisper of jealousy she felt. What if the crown prince preferred Dany over Sansa?

"Prince Joffrey will surely love you from the moment he sees you," Sansa said, forcing a smile. She was surprised when Dany burst out laughing.

"Oh, silly girl." She stood and pulled Sansa into a tight hug. "He will never love me, but he would be a fool not to love you."

Her jealousy left and in its place came guilt.

The guilt was forgotten by the time the visitors began pouring through the gates in a river of gold and silver polished steel. There were three hundred bannermen and knights, of sworn swords and freeriders. Over their heads a dozen golden banners whipped back and forth in the northern wind, emblazoned with the crowned stag of Baratheon.

"You better not embarrass me," Sansa hissed to Arya as they waited.

"You don't need me to embarrass you," Arya retorted, and Sansa gasped. She would have replied, but Robb nudged her and she turned her attention back to the visitors. Her eyes went to the man at the head of the column, flanked by two knights in the snow-white cloaks of the Kingsguard.

"Is that…?" Sansa trailed off, unsure if she was seeing the right person.

"The king?" Robb was just as bewildered as she. "He doesn't look anything like how Father described."

Robert Baratheon was said to have been a clean-shaven man of towering height and muscles like a maiden's fantasy. The man before them wore a coarse black beard and a vast stomach. She continued to watch him curiously as he vaulted off his warhorse and pulled Father into a bone-crushing hug.

" _Ned!_ Ah, but it is good to see that frozen face of yours." The king looked him over and laughed. "You have not changed at all."

"Your Grace. Winterfell is yours," her father told the king. He went over and swung her mother around in a hug, while the others dismounted.

 _There he is_ , thought Sansa. She finally found him among the riders. The crown prince.

Prince Joffrey was everything she imagined. Tall and handsome, with hair like spun gold and brilliant green eyes. He dismounted and spoke to a man with a horribly burned face that could only be Sandor Clegane. His face was like a character from one of Old Nan's stories. She stiffened when he glanced at her, terror spreading throughout her.

Thankfully, Sandor Clegane didn't accompany Prince Joffrey and the rest of the royals as they approached Sansa and her siblings. She listened intently as Queen Cersei introduced her children—the girl Myrcella and the little boy Tommen—to them and Mother did the same.

Her heart was positively racing when Prince Joffrey looked at her.

"Ned! Where's Brandon's son?" the king bellowed. Mother's smile tightened at the mention of Jon, but Sansa's cousin was brought forward. King Robert grinned as he clasped Jon's shoulder. "Put on a few inches and you are your father's image, but it looks like your uncle froze your father's wildness in you." The king let out a hearty laugh and Father shook his head, a small smile on his face.

Once his laughter died down, King Robert glanced around before asking, "Where's the girl?"

Everyone stilled. No one expected him to ask for Dany.

"In her room, Your Grace," her father answered after a tense moment.

"Bring her here. I want to see her."

"Your Grace—"

"I won't kill the girl, Ned. Just bring her."

Her father ordered Vayon Poole to get Dany. Jon moved to stand by Robb's side, both exchanging worried looks. Sansa didn't understand what was happening, but her insides coiled with fear for her foster sister.

Dany slowly approached King Robert, appearing as small as Rickon in comparison to the huge man.

"Daenerys Targaryen, Your Grace," her father introduced, glancing warily between his ward and the king.

King Robert stared at her with scrutinizing eyes that roamed every inch of her. He gestured to the ground. "Kneel," he ordered.

To Sansa's shock, Dany refused. She remained standing, silent and rigid.

Astonishment flickered across his face before something more menacing settled. "Will you kneel or shall I have Ser Jaime make you?" the king demanded.

The king received his answer when Dany knelt in the snow before him. He watched her then said to Father, "Take me down to your crypt, Eddard. I would pay my respects."

"Robert," began Queen Cersei, "We've been riding since _dawn_. We are all tired and cold, surely we should refresh ourselves first. The dead will wait."

Ser Jaime took his twin sister by the arm when King Robert looked at her with an expression Sansa had never seen a husband give a wife. The queen said no more, and Sansa's father led the king down to the crypt.

"Your Grace," her mother started when the king was out of earshot. "It would be an honor to show you to your rooms."

Dany was still in the snow as everyone else entered the castle. Robb and Jon went over to her and Sansa would have gone too, sympathy spreading throughout her for the older girl, but someone touched her elbow and she looked up to bright green eyes.

"Your name is Sansa, isn't it?" asked Prince Joffrey. He was staring at her and it took everything for Sansa not to look away.

"Yes," she breathed. Remembering her wits, she offered, "If it please you, I will show you to your chambers myself."

"It does." He smiled, his teeth straight and white.

Sansa glanced back at Dany one last time before leading Prince Joffrey inside.

* * *

After the humiliation Daenerys suffered at the hands of the king, Robb and Jon spent the rest of the afternoon with her. Robb didn't care that his mother would inevitably scold him for not spending time with the king's children. Dany was his friend and he refused to desert her.

They tried making her feel better by mocking the king. The king had been a great disappointment to Robb. His father had talked of him often; the peerless Robert Baratheon, demon of the Trident, the fiercest warrior of the realm, a giant among princes. Robb only saw a fat man, red-faced under his beard, sweating through his silks.

When that did not work, Robb brought up some rumors he heard around Winterfell from Theon. Jon disbelieved anything that came from Theon, but he humored him for Dany's sake. She smiled at some of things Robb said, but none of them reached her eyes. It wasn't until he and Jon began arguing over the accuracy of Theon's latest conquest when Dany finally spoke up.

"Your uncle Benjen brought me something," she told them. She pushed herself off the bed and went over to a chest Robb hadn't noticed by the corner of her bed. "My great-great uncle sent it with him and says it's a gift from my brother."

"Why wouldn't Viserys just send the gift here?" Jon inquired, frowning.

"Not Viserys. Rhaegar," Dany corrected, crouching down. "I haven't opened it yet. Care to make any guesses?"

"Books?"

"Scrolls."

"Uh… a harp? I know your brother played that."

"A harp wouldn't fit in that chest, you dolt."

"Fuck you, Snow."

In a voice thick with amusement, Dany asked, "Would you believe me if I said they were dragon's eggs?"

Robb and Jon scrambled over to the chest, nearly knocking Dany over as they huddled around her.

Nestled in piles of the nicest velvets and damasks Robb had ever seen were three huge eggs. They must have been made of some fine porcelain or delicate enamel, or even blown glass. One was pale, its shell the color of butter cream with swirls of gold and bronze. Another was green, the same shade as moss in the deep woods at dusk, with bronze glimmering in flecks. The last was black, darker than the midnight sky and rippled with scarlet.

"These are…?" Robb was gaping at them, unable to grasp at the riches in front of them.

"Dragon's eggs. Rhaegar bought them from a Volantenese merchant," Dany answered, lifting the green one up. She handed it to him, and in his hands it was much heavier than he assumed. It was as if it was solid stone.

"Does anyone else know about this?" Robb asked, handing the egg over to Jon.

She shook her head. "No one but Benjen and my great-great uncle." Her fingers trailed the surface of the shell belonging to the pale egg. "Promise you won't tell anyone?"

"Promise," he assured her. Jon merely gave a subtle nod of the head before gingerly placing the egg back in its nest.

Arya suddenly barged in, her face red from running. Her direwolf Nymeria followed at her heels, immediately running over to her brothers.

"What are you guys _doing_ in here?" she asked, slightly out of breath.

"Aren't you supposed to be showing the royals around with Sansa?" Jon asked instead.

"They're boring," Arya told them as she plopped down on her own bed. "Myrcella is scared of Nymeria and Tommen kept talking to Bran, and Sansa was hogging up Joffrey. Oh! And Mother is mad at you, Robb."

 _Of course she is_ , thought Robb. He needed to mentally prepare himself for the earful his mother would give him once she got him alone.

"Are you okay, Dany?" Arya questioned, reaching down to scratch her pup's head.

"I'm okay, Arya," Dany said softly. "They were just keeping me company."

"We'll keep you company at the feast too!" his sister exclaimed.

Dany laughed weakly. "I'm afraid I won't be joining you for the feast, sweet girl."

"But the queen requested that you sit at our table tonight," Arya said, frowning.

 _Shit_ , Robb thought, sharing a look with Jon.

Robb prayed to the old gods that no one was executed by the end of the night.


	5. Chapter V

**V.**

Jon filled his wine cup once more from a passing flagon, settling back in his place on the bench among the younger squires and drank. The sweet, fruitful taste of summerwine filled his mouth and brought a smile to his lips.

The Great Hall of Winterfell was hazy with smoke and heavy with the smell of roasted meat and fresh baked bread. A singer was playing the high harp and reciting a ballad, but down on this end of the hall his voice could scarcely be heard above the roar of the fire, the clang of plates and cups, and the low mutter of drunken conversations.

It was the fourth hour of the welcoming feast laid for the king. Jon's cousins were seated with the royal children, beneath the raised platform where Lord and Lady Stark hosted the king and queen. In honor of the occasion, his lord uncle would doubtless permit each child a glass of wine, but no more than that. Down here on the benches, there was no one to stop Jon from drinking as much as he wanted. He could already imagine the indignant look Robb would give him once he learned there were no limits on the benches. His thirst for wine had delighted the squires who urged him on every time he drained a glass. They were fine company and Jon relished the stories they told him, tales of battle and bedding and the hunt.

He found sitting with the youths around him more entertaining than the king's children. His curiosity of the visitors had been sated earlier when they had made their entrance, and from where Jon sat, he had gotten a good look at them.

Ned had come first, escorting the queen. She was as beautiful as men said. A jeweled tiara gleamed amidst her long golden hair, its emeralds a perfect match for the green of her eyes. His father helped her up the steps to the dais and led her to her seat, but the queen never so much as looked at him.

Next had come King Robert himself, with Lady Stark on his arm. He and Robb both agreed the king had been a great disappointment.

After them came the children. Rickon first, managing the long walk with all the dignity a three-year-old could muster. Jon had urged him along when he stopped to visit. Close behind him came Robb in grey wool trimmed with white, the Stark colors. He had the Princess Myrcella on his arm. She was a wisp of a girl, shy of eight, her hair a cascade of golden curls underneath a jeweled net. Jon noticed the shy looks she gave Robb as they passed between the tables. He had laughed in drunken amusement, realizing she was smitten, and laughed harder when Robb was too busy grinning like a fool to even have the sense to realize it.

Arya was paired with plump young Tommen; whose white blond hair was longer than hers. She grimaced as she walked with the young prince, only to lighten up when she caught the wink Jon sent her. Sansa drew the crown prince, Joffrey Baratheon, and looked radiant as she walked beside him. Prince Joffrey had his sister's hair and his mother's deep green eyes, but there was a bored, disdainful look on his face as he took in Winterfell's Great Hall.

Jon was more interested in the pair behind him: the queen's brothers. The Lion and the Imp, and there was no mistaking which was which. Ser Jaime Lannister was the twin to Queen Cersei; tall and golden, with green eyes and a smile that cut like a knife. He wore crimson silk, high black boots, and a black satin cloak. On the breast of his tunic, the lion of his House was embroidered in gold thread, roaring its defiance. They called him the Lion of Lannister to his face and whispered "Kingslayer" behind his back.

Guilt filled Jon when he found it difficult to look away from him. _This is what a king should look like_ , he thought as the man passed. Daenerys would wholeheartedly disagree.

Then he saw the other one, waddling along by his brother's side. Tyrion Lannister, the youngest of Lord Tywin's brood and by far the ugliest. The beauty the gods had graced Cersei and Jaime had been denied to Tyrion. He was a dwarf, half his brother's height, struggling to keep pace on his stunted legs. His head was large and misshapen. One green eye and one black one peered out from under a lank fall of blond hair. Jon watched him with fascination, having never seen a dwarf before in his sixteen years.

The last of the high lords to enter were his uncle, Benjen Stark of the Night's Watch, and Ned's wards, Theon Greyjoy escorting Daenerys Targaryen. Benjen gave Jon a warm smile as he went by. Theon would have ignored him, but he had Dany on his arm, and flashed Jon a smug smile as he brought her closer to his side. The Great Hall had grown almost silent as they watched Theon guide her to their table.

Rubies glittered in her unbounded silvery hair in the shape of a slender headband. She had changed out of her purple gown and donned a long-sleeved gown of rich black velvet, the color a stark contrast to her alabaster skin. The only time she allowed a smile to adorn her face was when she found Jon, letting her gaze linger on him until she reached her table.

Jon's heart had beat faster at that moment.

"Hungry again?" Jon asked when something started rubbing against his leg beneath the table, only to see red eyes staring up at him.

There was a honeyed chicken in the center of the table. Jon reached out to knife the bird whole and let the carcass slide to the floor between his legs. Ghost ripped into it in silence. His cousins hadn't been permitted to bring their wolves to the banquet, but there were more mutts than Jon could count at this end of the hall, and no one had said a word about his pup.

Jon grinned when Ghost managed to scare off a black mongrel bitch three times his size. He reached under the table to ruffle his shaggy white fur. The direwolf looked up at him, nipped gently at his hand, then returned to his meal.

"Is this one of the direwolves I've heard so much of?" asked a familiar voice. Jon looked up as his uncle Ben put a hand on his head, ruffling his hair the same way Jon had ruffled the wolf's.

"Yes," he answered, grinning. "His name is Ghost."

One of the squires interrupted the bawdy story he'd been telling to make room at the table for their lord's brother. Benjen Stark straddled the bench and took the wine cup from Jon's hand.

"Summerwine," he said after a taste. "Nothing so sweet. How many cups have you had, Jon?"

Jon smiled.

Ben Stark laughed. "As I feared. Ah, well. I believe I was younger than you the first time I got truly and sincerely drunk." He snagged a roasted onion from a nearby trencher and bit into it. "A very quiet wolf," he observed.

"He's not like the others," Jon said. "He never makes a sound. That's why I named him Ghost. That, and because he's white. The others are all dark, grey, or black."

"There are still direwolves beyond the Wall. We hear them on our ranging." Ben gave him a long look. "Don't you usually eat at the table with your cousins?"

"Most times," Jon said flatly. "But tonight Lady Stark thought it might give insult to the royal family to seat a bastard among them." Mentioning his uncle's wife brought a bitter taste to his mouth.

"I see." His uncle glanced over his shoulder at the raised table at the far end of the hall. "I suppose they would not have minded a bastard if they requested Daenerys."

The king may not have killed Dany, but he degraded her in front of hundreds and was now tormenting her by seating her around her family's killers. Jon understood what she felt. The sharp shame that struck you as a slap would. Theon and Lady Stark had made him feel that enough times. He wouldn't bring it up because he refused to further humiliate her, but when he and Robb had gone to help her out of the snow, he saw the tears in her eyes.

"My brother doesn't seem very festive tonight," Ben remarked after a while. Jon had noticed as well.

Ned was observing the courtesies, but there was a tautness to his posture Jon had seldom seen before. He said little, looking out over the hall with hooded eyes, seeing nothing. Two seats away, the king had been drinking heavily all night. His broad face was flushed behind his black beard. He made many toasts, laughed loudly at every jest, and attacked each dish like a starving man, but beside him the queen seemed colder than any winter Jon endured.

"The queen is angry too," Jon told his uncle quietly. "Uncle took the king down to the crypts this afternoon. The queen didn't want him to go."

Benjen gave Jon a careful, measuring look. "You don't miss much, do you, Jon? We could use a man like you on the Wall."

Jon swelled with pride. "Robb is a stronger lance than I am, but I'm the better sword, and Hullen says I sit on a horse as well as anyone in the castle."

"Notable achievements."

Jon considered asking Ben to take him when he went back to the Wall. He was almost a man grown and feared he was overstaying his welcome in Winterfell. Robb would one day inherit Winterfell and command great armies as the Warden of the North. Bran and Rickon would be Robb's bannermen and rule holdfasts in his name. Arya and Sansa would marry the heirs of other great houses. What place could a bastard hope to earn?

The Night's Watch was a noble calling. If he had to go his own way, it would be the path of the Night's Watch. He mentioned it once to Robb, when he was fourteen and those thoughts plagued his mind day and night. Robb had been _appalled_.

"You can't just up and join the Night's Watch," exclaimed Robb, flailing his wooden sword around. "You're _needed_ here."

"For what?" asked Jon, amused and relieved that Robb hadn't wanted him to leave.

Robb had waved his sword in exasperation. "Does it matter? Just know that you're needed here and that you can't leave."

That had been the end of that conversation, and Jon hadn't brought it up again. When Lady Stark's contempt became too much for him, Jon always recalled that memory. Robb claimed Jon was needed in Winterfell. He wasn't sure if that was true, but he preferred to believe that over being a useless beggar.

Reaching for a nearby pitcher, Jon filled his cup fresh. "Uncle?" he asked after taking a swig of summerwine. "Would my father have joined the Night's Watch?"

Ben coughed so hard his sharp face turned red. When his cough turned to laughter, Jon realized he knew less about his father than he thought. To feel less embarrassed, he emptied his cup in one swallow.

"Oh, gods," Ben said breathlessly. "Pardons, Jon, but imagining Brandon…" he laughed again. "You do remember that your father was the heir of Winterfell before he died, correct?"

"I remember."

"Well, he wouldn't have joined the Night's Watch. Not even if our father made him. Brandon loved to fight and his women. If he were not the heir to Winterfell and betrothed to Catelyn, he would have gone off to the Free Cities to become a sellsword."

Jon wished he hadn't drunk so much wine. His muddled mind couldn't fathom this new information he was given. Ned always said his father had the wolf blood, but now it made sense. Did Ben say _Catelyn_ was betrothed to his father? How did Jon not know this? Was that why she hated him so much? Did his mother know that his father had been betrothed when they met? Hundreds of questions about his father burgeoned in his mind, but suddenly the hall grew unbearably loud. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to ignore the thunderous noise.

"Jon?" his uncle's voice sounded distant.

He slowly nodded, and opened his eyes. Everything was a dark blur then it cleared, and Jon could see his uncle's concerned face.

"Go get some air, son. The sooner the better," Ben advised.

"You'll tell me about my father tomorrow?" Jon managed to ask.

"Sure." Ben helped him up. "Need me to walk you out?"

"No. I'm fine." Jon shrugged off his hands and made his way to the door. Ghost followed silently.

The yard was quiet and empty. A lone sentry stood high on the battlements of the inner wall, his cloak pulled tight around him against the cold. He looked bored and miserable. Music and song rippled through the open windows behind them. Jon closed his eyes when his head began to throb.

"Boy." Jon stopped to see who called him. Tyrion Lannister sat on the ledge above the door to the Great Hall, resembling a gargoyle. The dwarf grinned at him. "Is that animal a wolf?"

"A direwolf," Jon answered. He stared up at the little man, his confusion forgotten. "His name is Ghost... What are you doing up there? Why aren't you inside?"

"Too hot, too noisy, and I'd drunk too much wine," the dwarf told him. "I learned long ago that it is considered rude to vomit on your brother. Might I have a closer look at your wolf?"

Jon hesitated, then gave a slow nod. "Can you climb down or shall I bring a ladder?"

"Oh, bloody that," the dwarf dismissed. He pushed himself off the ledge into the empty air. Jon gaped, watching with awe as Tyrion Lannister spun around in a tight ball, landed lightly on his hands, then vaulted backwards on his legs.

Ghost backed away from him uncertainly.

Tyrion dusted himself and laughed. "I believe I've frightened your wolf. My apologies."

"He's not scared," Jon said then knelt. "Ghost, to me. Come on, that's it."

The pup padded closer and nuzzled at Jon's face, but kept a wary eye on Tyrion Lannister. When he reached out to pet him, Ghost drew back and bared its teeth in a silent snarl.

"Shy, isn't he?" Lannister observed.

"Sit, Ghost," Jon commanded. "That's it. Keep still." He looked up at Lannister. "You can touch him now. He won't move until I tell him to. I've been training him."

"I see," Lannister said. He ruffled the snow white fur between Ghost's ears and said, "Nice wolf."

"If I wasn't here, he'd tear out your throat," Jon said, though it wasn't actually true—at least not yet.

"In that case, you best stay close," the dwarf said. He regarded Jon with mismatched eyes. "I'm Tyrion Lannister."

"I know," Jon replied, rising to his feet. Standing, he towered over Lannister. It made him feel strange.

"You're Brandon Stark's bastard, aren't you?"

Jon stiffened and said nothing.

"Did I offend you?" Lannister asked, and he seemed strangely apologetic. "Beg pardons. Dwarfs don't have to be tactful. Generations of capering fools in motley have won me the right to dress badly and say any damn thing that comes into my head." He grinned. "You _are_ the bastard, though."

"Brandon Stark is my father," Jon admitted stiffly.

Lannister studied his face. "Yes," he murmured. "I can see it. You have more of the north in you than your cousins."

He was immensely pleased by the comment, but he refused to let it show.

"Let me give you some counsel, bastard," Lannister said. "Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness. Armor yourself in it, and it will never be used to hurt you."

Jon was in no mood for anyone's counsel. "What do you know about being a bastard?"

"All dwarfs are bastards in their father's eyes."

"You are your mother's trueborn son of Lannister."

"Am I?" the dwarf replied, sardonic. "Do tell my lord father. My mother died birthing me, and he's never been sure."

"I barely remember my mother at all," Jon said sullenly.

"Ashara Dayne, was she not?" He gave Jon a rueful grin. "Remember this, boy. All dwarfs may be bastards, yet not all bastards need to be dwarfs." With that, Lannister turned and sauntered back into the feast, whistling a tune. Jon watched him go, mulling over his words.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been standing there when someone touched his arm. Dany stood next to him, hugging herself.

"What are you doing out here?" Jon asked, turning to face her.

"Baratheon is inebriated, so I saw my chance to leave," Dany answered, trembling. "What are _you_ doing out here?"

"Got too noisy in there," Jon mumbled, blushing as he remembered his stumble out of the hall. "Let's go inside the castle. It's warmer in there."

Nodding, Dany walked alongside him towards the dark and deserted castle. The cold was not Dany's element. She preferred the heat and relished the false spring. Jon could spot her lounging in the sun on those rare days, soaking in the warmth. He liked it cold and enjoyed the wintry air. In spite of her disdain for winter, Jon could not deny that when the cold flushed Dany's cheeks, she always seemed so ethereal.

She looked rather sad now. Her purple eyes lacked the laughter it often held, and Jon wanted to bring it back. Ever since they were children, he promised he would protect her. If Robb wasn't there to grip his arm, Jon would have shielded Dany from embarrassment. What could he do to make her feel better? He remembered the kiss she gifted him with, the one he tried not to dwell on for his mind would wander into an unknown realm that he wasn't prepared to explore yet.

He pulled her to him and leaned in to kiss her, but he swayed a little and missed her lips. Steadying himself, Jon kissed her again. Her lips were full and soft, and parted open for his tongue. He meant to keep their kiss chaste, but the taste of honey was heavy on her tongue, and Jon couldn't stop himself. When his lips strayed to the corner of her mouth, he heard her laugh.

Dany was smiling when he drew away. "What was that for?"

Jon's tongue turned to wood. "I, ah, um, I… I thought it would make you feel better."

Her smile widened and she shouldered him, making him stumble to the side. "You don't have to cheer me up by kissing me," Dany told him. Her hands reached out for his arm before wrapping her own arms around him. "Your company is all I need."

"So you do not wish for me to kiss you again?"

"I never said that."

It took an entire minute for Jon to discern her words. His face burned the entire walk back to Dany's room. By the time they reached her chambers, his head was clear. Sober now, he offered Dany a simple goodnight and left before he could kiss her until his lungs gave out.

When Jon reached his room and climbed into his bed, a torrent of memories and questions assaulted him.

His father had been betrothed to Catelyn— _Lady Stark._ He was to marry the woman who scorned Jon all his life. He often wondered why his father never married his mother. Jon always assumed it was because he went to try and save Lyanna, not because he was already betrothed to Lady Stark. Would his father have even acknowledged him if he _had_ married Lady Stark? Jon was uncertain if his father would have married his mother out of preserving her honor or continued his marriage to Catelyn Tully.

 _Did he love her?_ Jon wondered. His uncle Ned would never tell him, but perhaps Ben would.

* * *

"I will refuse him," Ned announced.

Catelyn sat up in the bed, startled by his words. "You cannot. You _must_ not."

"My duties are here in the north. I have no wish to be Robert's Hand."

"He will not understand. He is a king now. If you refuse to serve him, he will wonder why, and sooner or later he will suspect that you oppose him," Catelyn told him. Couldn't he see the danger that put them in?

Ned shook his head. "Robert would never harm me or any of mine. We were closer than brothers. He loves me, even after I refused to hand over Daenerys. I _know_ that man."

"You _knew_ that man. The king is a stranger to you," Catelyn corrected. She remembered the direwolf dead in the snow, the broken antler lodged deep in her throat. She had to make him see. "Pride is everything to a king, my lord. Robert came all this way to see you, to bring you these great honors, you cannot throw them back in his face."

"Honors?" Ned laughed bitterly.

"In his eyes, yes," she said.

"And in yours?"

" _And_ in mine," she snapped. Why couldn't he see? "He offers his own son in marriage to our daughter, what else would you call that? Sansa might someday be queen. Her sons could rule from the Wall to the mountains of Dorne. What is so wrong with that?"

"Gods, Catelyn, Sansa is only _eleven_ ," Ned said. "And Joffrey… Joffrey is…"

"The crown prince and heir to the Iron Throne," she finished for him. "I was only twelve when my father promised me to your brother Brandon."

She immediately regretted mentioning Brandon after seeing the bitter frown on Ned's face. "Brandon. Yes. Brandon would know what to do. He always did. It was all meant for Brandon. You, Winterfell, everything. He was born to be a King's Hand and a father to queens. I never asked for this cup to pass to me."

"Perhaps not," Catelyn said, "but Brandon is dead, and the cup has passed, and you must drink from it, like it or not."

Ned turned back to the open window, staring out into the darkness. Catelyn softened, realizing his pain. He had married her in Brandon's place, as custom decreed, but the shadow of his dead brother still lay between them, as did the shadow of Brandon's bastard son. She would have gone to him, but an unexpected knock at their door made her pause.

"What is it?" Ned asked.

Desmond's voice came through the door. "My lord, Maester Luwin is without and begs urgent audience."

"You told him I had left orders not to be disturbed?"

"Yes, my lord. He insists."

"Very well. Send him in."

Ned crossed to the wardrobe and slipped on a heavy robe. Catelyn pulled the furs up to her chin as Maester Luwin was shown in. He apologized for disturbing their rest and told them that a wooden box with a lens inside of it had been left in his observatory. The maester drew a tightly rolled paper out of his sleeve.

"I found the true message concealed within a false bottom when I dismantled the box the lens had come in, but it is not for my eyes," the small grey man continued.

"Let me have it then," Ned ordered, holding out his hand.

"Pardons, my lord. The message is not for you either. It is marked for the eyes of the Lady Catelyn and her alone. May I approach?"

Catelyn nodded. The maester placed the paper on the table beside the bed. It was sealed with a small blob of blue wax. In the blue wax was the moon-and-falcon seal of House Arryn. "It's from Lysa." Catelyn looked at her husband. "There is grief in this message, Ned. I can feel it."

She broke the seal and read the words, squinting at the gibberish. Suddenly the words made sense. Lysa wrote that her husband Jon Arryn was murdered by the Lannisters—the queen. Ned had no choice. He _needed_ to be Robert's Hand. When she told him such, Ned shook his head, disbelieving.

"The Hand of the King has great power, my lord. Power to find the truth of Lord Arryn's death, to bring his killers to the king's justice. Power to protect Lady Arryn and her son, if the worst be true," added Maester Luwin.

"You say you love Robert like a brother. Would you leave your brother surrounded by Lannisters?" Catelyn questioned. She didn't want him to leave, but the truth of Jon Arryn's death was more important than her own feelings.

"The Others take both of you," Ned muttered, turning back to the window. For a long time, no one spoke. "My father went south once, to answer the summons of a king. He never came home again."

"A different time," Maester Luwin said. "A different king."

"Yes," Ned agreed flatly. He seated himself heavily in a chair by the hearth. "Catelyn, you shall stay here in Winterfell."

"No," she whispered, afraid.

"Yes," Ned said, and there was no room for argument. "There must always be a Stark in Winterfell. Robb is fourteen. Soon enough, he will be a man grown. He must learn to rule, and I will not be here for him. He must be ready when his time comes. Maester Luwin, I trust you as I would my own blood. Teach my son the things he needs to know. Winter is coming."

Maester Luwin nodded gravely. Silence settled in the room once more until Catelyn willed herself to ask, "What of the children?"

Ned went over to her and held her face in his hands. "Rickon is young," he began gently. "He should stay here with you and Robb. The others I would take with me."

"No." Her voice trembled at the thought of children leaving her.

"Sansa must wed Joffrey, that is clear now, we must give them no grounds to suspect our devotion. And it is past time that Arya learned the ways of a southron court. In a few years she will be of an age to marry too."

"Yes, but not Bran," she begged. "For the love you bear me, let Bran remain here at Winterfell. He is only seven."

"I was eight when my father sent me to foster at the Eyrie," Ned reminded her. "Ser Rodrik tells me there is no love between Robb and Joffrey. Bran is a sweet boy, quick to laugh, easy to love. Let him grow up with the young princes, let him become their friend as Robert became mine. Our House will be the safer for it."

 _He's right_ , thought Catelyn. It didn't make it any less painful. "Keep him off the walls then," she finally said. "You know how Bran loves to climb."

Ned kissed her unbidden tears. "Thank you, my lady," he murmured against her cheeks. "This is hard, I know."

"What of Jon Snow, my lord?" Maester Luwin asked, and Catelyn could not ignore the blaze of anger she felt every time she thought of Ned's nephew.

Brandon's death had cut her deep. He was her first love and she thought he loved her back. Perhaps he did, but not enough to keep himself out of the Lady Ashara Dayne's bed. She heard her maids repeating tales they heard from her husband's soldiers. They whispered of the Tourney at Harrenhal, and how the two had a tryst before Rhaegar Targaryen crowned Lyanna Stark as his queen of love and beauty. Catelyn never met Jon's mother, but she heard of her haunting beauty.

Catelyn could have coped with the grief over time, but as Jon grew, so did his resemblance to Brandon. She had come to love her husband with all her heart, but she had never found it in her to love Jon. Once she wondered if that's what her son would look like if she and Brandon wed, but then she remembered Jon's mother, and the coldness she felt towards the boy would return. His abiding presence was a constant reminder of Brandon's infidelity, and that made her unable to forget him. With Ned leaving for King's Landing, Catelyn could not let those old wounds fester.

"Jon must go," she said. It was selfish, but she couldn't stand watching Jon grow more into a Stark any longer.

"He and Robb are close," Ned said softly. "I had hoped—"

"He cannot stay here," Catelyn interrupted. "He is not our son. I will not have him." It was a hard truth to speak, but it needed to be spoken. Ned would do the boy no kindness by leaving him here at Winterfell.

"You _know_ I cannot take him south. There will be no place for him at court." Ned looked away, anguished. "Not after what happened to Brandon."

The details of Brandon's death flashed in Catelyn's mind, forcing her to swallow back bile. "They say your friend Robert has fathered a dozen bastards himself."

"And none of them has ever been seen at court," Ned snapped. "The Lannister woman has seen to that. How can you be so cruel, Catelyn? He is only a boy. He—"

Maester Luwin cut in before Ned could continue. "Jon could always take the black," he suggested quietly.

"The Night's Watch?" Ned echoed, stunned. Catelyn would have kissed the maester just then. It was the perfect solution. Benjen Stark was a Sworn Brother. Jon would be a son he could never have, and Jon would father no sons who might someday contest with Catelyn's own grandchildren for Winterfell.

"Jon is sixteen. Another year and he will be a man grown. There is great honor in service on the Wall, my lord," the maester said.

"And even a bastard may rise high in the Night's Watch," Ned reflected. He was still reluctant.

"A hard sacrifice," Maester Luwin agreed. "Yet these are hard times, my lord. His road is no crueler than yours or your lady's."

"Very well," Ned relented after a thoughtful moment. "I suppose it is for the best. I will speak to Ben."

"When shall we tell Jon?" the maester asked.

"When I must. Preparations must be made. It will be a fortnight before we are ready to depart. I would sooner let Jon enjoy these last few days. Summer will end soon enough, and childhood as well. When the time comes, I will tell him myself."

* * *

Tyrion Lannister felt as if he returned home from a long trip the moment he entered the warm library of Winterfell.

He found comfort in libraries. From tales of mythical creatures to retellings of historical events, Tyrion often found himself nose deep in a new book. _Or nose deep in a whore's cunt_ , he added silently. Tyrion frequented brothels as much as he haunted the libraries of Casterly Rock and the Red Keep.

"Oh." Tyrion blinked in surprise when he saw Daenerys Targaryen sitting on a bench, palming her chin as she read a heavy book. Her eyes weren't focused on the print, and had a faraway look in them. Tyrion could only stare. He had always wanted to meet a Targaryen, and last night at the feast there hadn't been an opportunity to properly introduce himself to the Dragon Princess.

It took a brief moment for her to register that he was there, and she immediately began climbing off the bench.

"Don't leave on my intrusion," Tyrion hastily said, and she paused. "I assure you, I'm not here to trouble you. I only wish to read."

Daenerys Targaryen's eyes were fixed on him, distrust plain on her young face. He was a Lannister, and after the humiliation Robert put her through yesterday, he couldn't blame her. Much to his relief, she slowly lowered herself back on the bench and resumed reading.

He stayed in the same area, too curious to leave. When would he ever get another chance to be this close with a true Targaryen? Tyrion busied himself with finding an interesting read, settling on a hundred-year-old discourse on the changing of the seasons by a long dead maester. He hefted the heavy, leather-bound book over to the same table where the silver princess sat, noticing her stiffen as he sat across from her.

The silence lasted for a minute before Tyrion could contain his curiosity much longer.

"I'm Tyrion Lannister," he introduced, offering her genial smile.

"I know who are you." Suspicion colored her tone. It made Tyrion's smile falter. "And you know who I am."

"I was hoping for a proper introduction," Tyrion explained. When she said nothing, he shrugged. "But you're right. I do know who you are. You're Rhaegar Targaryen's sister, Daenerys Stormborn."

She stared at him, silent. Another minute passed before she saved her page and closed her tome. "Is there something on your mind?" she asked, voice lacking the loathing he expected to hear. "I'd rather you ask than watch me."

So many questions, yet his mouth was unable to articulate even one. He was overwhelmingly eager to learn everything about Eddard Stark's ward. She had been so demure and silent throughout the feast, but when Tyrion and the others watched her approach her table with the Greyjoy youth, she had stolen the room. The black gown, the rubies… she had honored her House without uttering a word.

Cersei was none too pleased. She demanded attention, and was used to the looks of awe and lust she received over her striking looks. Tyrion was certain his sister had never been so severely ignored as she had when Daenerys Targaryen stepped inside the Great Hall last night. He didn't miss the pleased look on her face when the young girl had grown timid and near close to vomiting when Jaime had sat across from her.

"I'd like to apologize for last night," Tyrion found himself saying. "It was wrong of the king and queen to… well, _treat_ you the way they did."

She glanced down at her lap before looking back up at him, and it surprised Tyrion to see the disgust absent in her eyes. The more courteous nobles hid their contempt behind graceful manners, but there were few of them, and most were open to their revulsion of him. Children gaped at him with unveiled curiosity, though Tyrion didn't hold it against them.

Perhaps Daenerys Targaryen had the compassion her father lacked.

"You have my thanks," she murmured. _What a soft girl,_ observed Tyrion.

"Have the Starks treated you well?" he inquired. She was clearly nonplussed by the question, but answered nonetheless.

"Kinder than anyone else would."

Tyrion recalled the eldest Stark son and his bastard cousin walking with Daenerys after Robert left for the crypt. "It's good to have friends." _Not that I would know_ , he thought. "What are you reading?"

" _Conquest of Dorne_ ," Daenerys Targaryen answered.

"Ah. I've read that one."

"Maester Luwin says he overstated his conquest."

"He was fourteen when he was crowned. Of course he would overstate his conquest."

The corners of her mouth quirked upwards, just shy of a smile. Her purple eyes darted across the room and widened. Tyrion followed her gaze to find Lady Stark approaching their table.

"Daenerys." Lady Stark's voice guaranteed a scolding. "Isn't there somewhere you should be?"

"Pardons, my lady. I believe it's my fault for keeping her away," Tyrion apologized.

"Well, I'm certain she was hiding here before you "kept her away." Come, Daenerys. Princess Myrcella expects you."

Tyrion offered the girl a wink as she went over to Lady Stark. She smiled this time and disappeared out of the library.

* * *

"Nice of you to join us," drawled Septa Mordane.

Arya looked up from her crooked stitches to see her mother bringing in a sullen Dany. Septa Mordane gave Dany a withering look, but was met with an eye roll.

She was unable to suppress her pleased smile when Dany chose to sit with her instead of Sansa, nor the happiness she felt for the company. Sansa was in her own corner with Beth Cassel and Jeyne Poole. Princess Myrcella was surrounded by the other ladies, but Arya had no desire being near them, so she opted to sit in her own corner of the room where no one could make fun of her or her stitches.

"Where did you go?" Arya inquired.

"The library. I met the Imp. He was… interesting." Dany didn't attempt to stitch anything. "What is your impression on the princess?"

"She smiles a lot," was all Arya could say about the blonde girl. Princess Myrcella said something then, and the septa laughed along with the rest of the ladies. She glanced over at Sansa and her group, noticing Jeyne lean over to whisper something in Sansa's ear. "What are you talking about?" she suddenly asked them.

The girls each gave Arya startled looks. Jeyne giggled, Beth blushed, and Sansa looked abashed. None of them seemed willing to share with her, but Sansa opened her mouth after Dany insisted she tell.

"We were talking about the prince," Sansa revealed softly. Arya immediately knew which prince she meant. The tall, handsome one named Joffrey. Sansa had gotten to sit with him, while Arya sat with the little fat one.

"Joffrey likes your sister," added Jeyne proudly. "He told her she was very beautiful."

"He's going to marry her," Beth said dreamily. "Then Sansa will be queen of all the realm."

Dany stiffened beside her, and Arya bit her lip. She knew Dany felt uneasy around the visitors. Even Jon and Robb had hung out with Dany after the king acted unpleasant towards her.

"Beth, you shouldn't make up stories," Sansa corrected, though the harshness in her words were softened by the stroke of her fingers in the younger girl's hair. She looked up, glancing between Arya and Dany. "What do you think of Prince Joff? He's very gallant, don't you think?"

"Robb is handsomer," Dany said airily. "Your prince is comely and all, but Robb is strong and fair. I'd want _him_ to save me if I were trapped in a tower."

"You two would have beautiful children," Sansa noted.

The older girl huffed out a short laugh. "Yes, I want to wed Robb and bear his children."

The girls giggled, and Arya felt like an outsider once more. "Jon says he looks like a girl," she blurted out, and Dany snickered behind her hand.

"Poor Jon," sighed Sansa as she stitched. "He's just jealous because he's a bastard."

"He's our cousin," Arya said defensively. Her voice was too loud, and it cut through the afternoon quiet of the tower room.

Septa Mordane turned to them with a frown. "What are you talking about, girls?"

"Our cousin," Sansa answered swiftly. "Arya and I were remarking on how we pleased we were to have the princess with us today."

"Indeed. A great honor for us all," agreed the septa, and Princess Myrcella smiled shyly. "Daenerys, Arya, why aren't you two at work?"

For once, Dany said nothing, much to Arya's surprise. When Dany would show up for lessons, she wouldn't hesitate to let their septa know of her objections to sitting in the tower room. Yet now, she sat there silent.

"Let me see your stitches," Septa Mordane ordered, her starched skirts rustling as she strode across the room.

"I didn't do any," Dany admitted.

"No doubt because you forgot how to stitch from avoiding lessons," rejoined Septa Mordane, curling her lip at the fabric in Dany's lap. "What was the last thing you stitched?"

"A scarf with my House sigil," she answered, smiling wryly. "You said it was too crooked and tossed it out."

The septa shook her head, exasperated. She turned to Arya, giving her an expectant look. Arya surrendered her work, wincing as Septa Mordane examined the fabric.

"Arya, Arya, Arya," she began. "This will not do. This will not do at all."

She knew everyone was staring, judging her. Jeyne was smirking, and Sansa would have too if she weren't brought up so well. Even Princess Myrcella looked sorry for her. It was all too much. Tears pricked her eyes, and she pushed herself out of her chair and bolted before anyone could watch her cry.

Arya heard voices calling her name, but she didn't stop. There was no way she could stay in that room any longer. She ran down the steps as fast as she could, her tears drying from the wind that brushed against her wet cheeks.

Nymeria waited for her in the guardroom at the base of the stairs, bounding over to her once Arya was in her sight. It made Arya grin. The wolf pup loved her, even if no one else did. They went everywhere together, and if Mother hadn't forbidden it, she would have gladly taken the wolf with her to needlework. Nymeria nipped at her as Arya untied her. She had yellow eyes that gleamed like two golden coins when caught in the sunlight.

"Arya?" called a familiar voice, and Arya turned to see Dany rushing down the steps. "Why did you run off?"

"I couldn't stay in there. You saw the way they were looking at me!" Arya exclaimed, her lower lip quivering as she tried not to cry again. "It isn't fair. How come Sansa is so perfect at everything and I'm just..."

Sansa could sew, sing, and dance. She could write poetry, play the high harp and the bells. Worse, she was beautiful. Sansa had gotten their mother's Tully's looks, complete with the high cheekbones and thick, auburn hair. Arya took after their lord father, with the characteristic long face and dark brown hair.

"I'm just Arya Horseface," she finished feebly, remembering the nickname. Jeyne used to call her that, and would neigh whenever she came near until Dany made her stop.

"Oh, you are more than just that silly name, sweet girl," Dany said gently. "You ride like a centurion, fight like a man, and make friends easily. You are strong and willful, like Daena the Defiant. When you grow older, you will learn so many things, things more important that needlework that no one would dare call you Arya Horseface, but Able Arya."

Able Arya. She liked that name. It was the nicest thing anyone ever called her.

Before she could thank her, Dany took her hand and led them to the yard. Nymeria followed at their heels. The boys were at practice in the yard, and Arya felt a rush of excitement. She wanted to see Robb put Prince Joffrey flat on his back. When she said this, Dany laughed.

They headed to a window in the covered bridge between the armory and the Great Keep where there was a view of the whole yard. Jon was seated on the sill, one leg drawn up languidly to his chin. He was so absorbed in the action he hadn't noticed them approaching until his white wolf moved to meet them. Ghost was already the largest of his litter mates, and sniffed and nipped at his sister before settling back down.

Jon gave them both curious looks. "Shouldn't you two be working on your stitches?"

Dany rolled her eyes and held out her hand. "You know how I feel about needlework."

"And we wanted to see them fight," Arya added, watching as Jon helped Dany sit next to him on the window. His cheeks reddened, and she wondered what had gotten into him.

"Come here, then," he said, smiling. Arya climbed up on the window and sat on the other side of him.

To her disappointment, it was the younger boys drilling. Bran was so heavily padded he looked like he had belted on a featherbed, and Prince Tommen, already plump to begin with, seemed positively round. They were huffing and puffing, hitting each other with padded wooden swords under the watchful eye of Ser Rodrik Cassel. Robb was the loudest among the dozen spectators, and Arya spotted Theon beside him with wry contempt on his face.

"A shade more exhausting than needlework," Jon commented dryly.

"A shade more _fun_ than needlework," Arya fired back. Jon grinned and reached over to muss up her hair. They had always been close. Jon had her father's face, as she did, only his hair was such a dark shade of brown it appeared black.

"Why aren't you down in the yard?" Arya asked him.

He gave her half a smile. "Bastards are not allowed to damage young princes," he answered evenly. "Any bruises they take in the practice yard must come from trueborn swords."

"Oh." Arya felt abashed.

"Or they're afraid you'll put them to shame," replied Dany, leaning forward on the window sill.

"Perhaps," Jon laughed.

They watched Bran whack at Tommen. "I could do just as good as Bran," Arya declared. "He's only seven. I'm nine."

"You're too skinny," Jon remarked the same time Dany said, "You'd hurt him."

After sharing a grin with Dany, he took Arya's arm and felt her muscle, commenting on how she could barely lift a longsword. She snatched back her arm and glared at him, but he merely messed up her hair again. They returned to watching Bran and Prince Tommen circle each other.

"You see Prince Joffrey?" Jon asked them.

She hadn't at first, but she found him leaning against the shaded high stone wall. He was surrounded by men she didn't recognize. Jon mentioned his surcoat, and Arya looked to see an ornate shield embroidered on the prince's padded surcoat. It was more exquisite than Sansa's work. The arms were divided down the middle; on one side was the crowned stag of the royal House, on the other the lion of Lannister.

"Sansa's besotted with him," Dany said, sounding bored. "I don't see the appeal."

"The Lannisters are proud," Jon observed. "You'd think the royal sigil would be sufficient, but he makes his mother's House equal to honor the king's."

"Women are important too!" Arya protested, and Dany slapped Jon's arm, offended.

He chuckled at their reaction. "Perhaps you should do the same thing, little sister. Wed Tully to Stark in your arms."

"A wolf with a fish in its mouth?" Arya laughed. "That would look silly. Besides, if a girl can't fight, why should she have a coat of arms?"

Jon shrugged. "Girls get the arms, but not the swords. Bastards get the swords but not the arms. I didn't make the rules, little sister."

"Queen Visenya had both," Dany reminded them.

"She had _dragons_ ," Jon pointed out. "No one would dare say no to her."

She rolled her eyes at that. There was a shout from the courtyard below, drawing their attention. Prince Tommen was rolling in the dust, trying to get up to no avail. Bran was standing over him with an upraised wooden sword, ready to whack him again once he regained his feet. The men began to laugh.

"Enough!" Ser Rodrik called out. He gave the prince a hand and yanked him back to his feet. "Well fought. Lew, Donnis, help them out of their armor. Prince Joffrey, Robb, will you go another round?"

Robb, drenched in sweat, moved forward eagerly. "Gladly."

Prince Joffrey stepped into the sunlight, his hair shining like spun gold. "This is a game for children, Ser Rodrik."

Theon let out a sudden bark of laughter. "You _are_ children," he said derisively.

"Robb may be a child," Prince Joffrey drawled, "but I am a prince, and I grow tired of swatting at Starks with a play sword."

"You got more swats than you gave, Joff," Robb retorted. "Are you afraid?"

"Oh, terrified," he mocked, looking at him. "You are so much older."

Some of the Lannister men laughed. Jon frowned as he watched the scene. "Joffrey is truly a little shit," he remarked.

"Indeed," Dany murmured.

Ser Rodrik tugged thoughtfully at his white whiskers. "What are you suggesting?" he asked the prince.

"Live steel."

"Done," Robb accepted. "You'll be sorry!"

The master-at-arms put a hand on Robb's broad shoulder. "Live steel is too dangerous. I will permit you tourney swords, with blunted edges."

Joffrey said nothing, but a man with black hair and burn scars on his face pushed forward. He had a hulking form, and was muscled like a bull. "This is your prince. Who are you to tell him he may not have an edge on his sword, ser?"

"Master-at-arms of Winterfell, Clegane, and you would do well not to forget it."

"Are you training women here?" the burned man demanded.

"I am training _knights_ ," Ser Rodrik answered scathingly. "They will have live steel when they're ready. When they are of age."

The burned man looked at Robb. "How old are you, boy?"

"Fourteen."

"I killed a man at twelve. You can be sure it was not with a blunt sword."

Robb bristled, his pride wounded.

"I'll be back," Dany suddenly said, and climbed down from the sill and over to the courtyard. Arya gaped as the petite girl strode over to the scene. There was a mutter of confusion, but Dany paid them no mind.

"Daenerys?" Ser Rodrik was baffled at her sudden arrival.

"Let them fight with live steel," she encouraged, her voice loud and sweet. "We all know who the better fighter is."

The burned man sneered, "You let your Targaryen whore speak for you?"

"Whore? Is that meant to insult me?" Dany was unimpressed, but Arya would have been afraid if it were her speaking to that man. "I would return the slap, if I took you for a man."

The burned man let out a series of curses and looked close to hitting her.

She ignored him and turned to Joffrey, a challenging look on her face. "I would expect you not to ask, but command live steel since you are the prince, or have I mistaken you for someone else?"

Anger flared in Joffrey's eyes. "You dare act so insolent towards your prince?"

"Ah, so you _are_ the prince."

"My dog will cut you down if I so commanded it."

"I'd rather you do it yourself, but I doubt you're man enough."

"And soil my hands in Targaryen filth?" Joffrey curled his lip. "I suppose you desire to meet the sharp end of my uncle's sword like your father. I can have that arranged if you'd like."

Joffrey smirked when Dany didn't respond. He turned to his younger brother. "Come, Tommen," he drawled. "The hour of play is done. Leave the children to their frolies."

That brought more laughter from the Lannisters, and more curses from Robb. Ser Rodrik's face was red with fury under his white whiskers, while Dany had a baleful look on her face, the expression so out of place on her it was unnerving. Theon finally released Robb once the princes and their party were safely away.

"The show is done," Jon said, startling Arya. He had been silent the entire time, his face as still as the pool at the heart of the godswood. He climbed down off the window and bent down to scratch Ghost behind the ears. "You had best run back to your room, little sister. Septa Mordane will surely be lurking. The longer you hide, the sterner the penance. You'll be sewing all through winter. When the spring thaw comes, they will find your body with a needle locked tight between your frozen fingers."

Arya didn't think it was funny. "I hate needlework! It's not fair!"

"Nothing is fair," Jon told her. He mussed up her hair again and walked over to the equally livid Robb and Dany, Ghost moving silently beside him.

Reluctantly, Arya turned in the other direction back to her room.

* * *

Robb wanted to punch something—or someone, but that would get him in trouble.

He was still irate over earlier. Joffrey wasn't much company at the feast last night, but Robb had thought the prince would be friendlier once they practiced in the yard. Robb shouldn't have expected anything from the little shit.

"That was absolute _horseshit_ ," Robb said angrily. "He's fucking atrocious with the sword, but he acts as if he's Arthur Dayne. Even _Bran_ can knock his arse on the ground. Gods, who does Joffrey think he is?"

"The crown prince," answered Jon dryly. He sat by the black pool, one leg drawn up to his chin while the other was stretched out over the grass.

" _Fuck_ the crown prince. He's lucky we didn't use live steel," Robb snapped. He slammed his fist into the bark of the weirwood tree. If only he weren't the crown prince, then Robb wouldn't have held back.

"You should have Grey Wind bite off his prick," suggested Dany. She was on her back, playing with the direwolves. She wagged her little finger. "I bet it's this small."

Robb and Jon snorted out laughter. "We should take him down to the crypt," Jon added between laughs. "Give him a scare. Remember when we scared you, Sansa, and Arya?"

"I've never seen you that scared before, Dany," Robb remarked, after his laughter died down.

"I wasn't _scared_. I was startled," Dany grumbled, rolling over onto her stomach.

"Yes, because when _I'm_ startled I jump and shriek," Jon retorted. He laughed again when Dany hit him. "But the visitors are worse than you. They don't even want the wolves around them and they're still pups."

"Fuck the visitors," Robb and Dany said together. They shared a look before laughing.

Later that night during the feast, Robb couldn't help but think _fuck the visitors_ when his father announced that he was to become the king's Hand and would leave for King's Landing in a fortnight.

* * *

 **A/N:** Just to be clear, I'm not vilifying Catelyn, but I do believe she acts petty towards Jon. Anyways, I hope you guys are enjoying the fic so far and the changes I've made. Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter VI

**VI.**

It was the first time since the visitors arrived that Winterfell was quiet.

The king wanted wild boar at the feast tonight. Prince Joffrey rode with his father, so Robb had been allowed to join the hunters as well. Uncle Benjen, Jory, Theon Greyjoy, Ser Rodrik, and Tyrion Lannister had all ridden out with them. After all, it was the last hunt for them. On the morrow, the visitors were to leave for the south. Along with the them were his uncle Ned and cousins Sansa, Arya, and Bran.

They were not the only ones leaving. Jon was to join his uncle Ben when he left for the Wall. He only learned of this three days ago from Ned.

Jon knew he would have to leave from the moment his uncle announced that he was to become the king's Hand. He was almost a man grown, and could not depend on Ned or Robb to shield him from Lady Stark any longer.

"Believe me, Jon. I would never send you to the Wall, but…" Jon had never seen his uncle so anguished.

 _Your wife_ , he would have said, but held his tongue.

"I cannot come with you, can I?" Jon stupidly asked.

"No." The abrupt harshness in his voice startled Jon. "Your father went to the south and never returned home. I do not wish the same thing upon you."

Regardless of leaving on the morrow, Jon hadn't told anyone that he was heading to the Wall. He was too angry. Jon hated that he was being forced to join the Night's Watch and not on his own terms. He hated Lady Stark for making him leave. He hated his parents for dying. What Jon hated the most was that he was a bastard and couldn't do anything about it.

He avoided everyone after that. Jon would undoubtedly snap at whoever spoke to him and he would rather not have his last memories of Winterfell be hurting his loved ones. Dany was the only one who did not understand that.

When he heard his door open, Jon rolled onto his side and hid his face from her. "Go away," he grumbled. The bed dipped with her weight and he clenched his fist. "I said go _away_ , Daenerys."

She leaned over him, the warm weight of her body pressing into his side. Her hair fell across his face as she leaned towards him. Jon wanted to both push her away and pull her close.

"What's wrong, Jon?" she asked, concerned.

"None of your business," he told her coldly. They stared at one another for a moment then suddenly Jon was on his back and she was straddling his lap. "Dany, what the—"

"Jon, what is it?" Dany asked. He knew Dany would persist until she got her answer. She and Arya were the most stubborn people he knew.

Jon touched her hips to keep her steady as he sat up. Her hands eased up on their grip and slid down to his chest, light above his doublet. He swallowed thickly, trying to work up the courage to tell her. Imagining the look on her face was almost unbearable.

"I'm going to the Wall," he finally said. "I'm to become a Sworn Brother of the Night's Watch."

The expression on her face was worse than what Jon imagined. It took all his strength not to break their gaze.

"You mean it," Dany said, faltering. Tears glistened in her eyes, and Jon couldn't ignore the flood of guilt that threatened to drown him.

"Robb will inherit Winterfell. Bran and Rickon will become his bannermen. Arya and Sansa will marry southron lords. I… I have nothing. I don't belong here." He grasped the furs beneath him, hoping she wouldn't notice his trembling hands. "At least I'll earn some honor by serving the Night's Watch."

"You have me," she said, her voice small.

Jon shook his head, eyes stinging with tears. "I don't. I never did."

"Don't go," Dany whimpered against his chest. " _Please_."

"I have to," he forced out. He needed to keep his voice steady. "This was never my home."

She lifted her head, ready to plead again, but then something in her eyes shifted. He froze when Dany reached for his hand and guided it between her legs.

"Dany…" He looked at her with uncertainty. "We've known each other since we were children."

"Maybe that will make it better. I'm a woman flowered."

"Dany—"

"Jon, you're going _away_ and I don't know if I'll ever see you again..."

He frowned. "Don't say that."

"You're saying no?"

He couldn't speak. Dany was a beautiful girl, but she was his closest friend. Sharing a bed with her never crossed his mind. Jon never even thought of _kissing_ her until she kissed him.

Dany gazed about him for a long time before getting off his lap.

"You're a craven, Jon Snow," she said, her voice trembling with a rage and hurt.

She whirled and left, missing the faint, "I know," from Jon.

* * *

Close to a fortnight had passed since Bran had fallen.

On the same day as the hunt, Bran had fallen from the First Keep. It wasn't even an hour after Dany left his room when he heard Bran's wolf howl then a woman scream. Jon went to see what was wrong, but to his horror, he found Lady Stark cradling Bran in her arms by the First Keep, screaming at the top of her lungs. There was commotion, with Maester Luwin shouting orders to get Ned. Sansa was sobbing in Dany's arms and Arya was staring at her weeping mother, as if she were in a dream.

Jon hadn't gone to visit his cousin until today. Lady Stark had been there day and night. She had her meals brought to her there, and a small hard bed to sleep on, though it was said she had scarcely slept at all. Not once did she leave the room, so Jon stayed away, but now there no more time.

It was a long walk down to the yard after saying goodbye to Bran.

Outside, everything was noise and confusion. Wagons were being loaded, men were shouting, horses were being harnessed and saddled and led from the stables. A light snow had begun to fall, and everyone was in an uproar to be off. Robb was in the middle of it with Grey Wind by his side, shouting commands with the best of them. He seemed to have grown of late.

"Uncle Benjen is looking for you," he told Jon. "He wanted to be gone an hour ago."

"I know," Jon said. He looked around at all the noise and confusion. "Leaving is harder than I thought."

"For me too," Robb admitted. He had snow melting in his hair. "Did you see him?"

Jon nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

"He's not going to die," Robb declared. "I know it."

"You Starks are hard to kill," Jon agreed, his voice tired. The visit had taken all of his strength.

Robb knew something was wrong. "My mother...?"

"She was... very kind," Jon forced himself to say.

He didn't look like he believed him, but didn't remark on it. "Good." He smiled. "The next time I see you, you'll be all in black."

"It was always my color," Jon said with a strained smile. "How long do you think it will be?"

"Soon enough," Robb promised. He pulled Jon to him and embraced him fiercely. "Farewell, Snow."

Jon hugged him back, his resolve to leave threatening to weaken. "And you, Stark. Take care of Bran."

"I will." They broke apart and looked at each other awkwardly. "Uncle Benjen said to send you to the stables if I saw you."

"I have one more farewell to make," Jon told him.

"Daenerys?" Robb guessed.

He had been afraid of saying goodbye to her. Neither had sought each other out ever since he told her he was leaving. Jon was certain she hated him.

"No," Jon eventually said. "It's Arya."

"Then I haven't seen you," Robb replied, and he left his cousin amidst the snow and wagons and wolves.

It was a short walk to the armory. He picked up his package and took the covered bridge across to the Keep. Jon faltered when he saw Dany just outside the doors leading to it, fiddling with something in her hands.

"I heard you were leaving today," she said, her voice sounding as tired as his did. Her eyes went to the package in his hands. "Did someone give that to you?"

"A gift for Arya," he explained, and she nodded. Dany shifted on her feet before handing him the black fabric in her hands.

Jon said nothing as he accepted the fabric. Even with his gloves on, he could feel it was a ribbon made of silk. His eyes widened when he saw the red _D_ embroidered at the bottom of each narrow strip. This was Dany's favorite ribbon. She used it to tie her hair back whenever she went riding. "It's the most decent thing I stitched," she had told him once.

"Are you certain?" he asked quietly, squeezing the ribbon in his hand.

"Yes." Dany leaned towards him, giving him a soft kiss on his cheek. As she lingered, she allowed Jon to wrap his arms around her, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

She untangled herself from him and they stared at each other for a long time. Then she nodded, a silent kind of farewell that ached his heart, and left him standing there alone.

* * *

The road north seemed endless.

Tyrion Lannister had left Winterfell on the same day as the king, amidst all the commotion of the royal departure, as a light snow fell about them. The ones going south took the noise with them, and left the cold and silence with Tyrion and the others heading north.

There were eight in the party by then, not counting the wolf. Tyrion traveled with two of his own men, while Benjen Stark had only his bastard nephew and some fresh mounts for the Night's Watch. At the edge of the wolfswood they stayed a night behind the wooden walls of a forest holdfast, and there joined up with another of the black brothers, one named Yoren. He had with him a pair of ragged peasant boys from the Fingers. "Rapers," Yoren explained, shooting his charges a disgusted look.

Tyrion noticed Jon Snow watching Yoren and his sullen companions with a look of dismay. Undoubtedly, the boy made the mistake of believing that the Night's Watch was made up of men like his uncle. If so, Yoren and his companions were a rude awakening for him. He felt sorry for the boy. He had chosen a hard life.

He had less sympathy for the uncle. Benjen Stark seemed to share his brother's distaste for Lannisters, and hadn't been pleased when Tyrion had requested he join them on their trip. One did not say no to the queen's brother, so Stark hadn't denied him, but he made his objections to Tyrion accompanying them clear.

While Stark and the other men began making crude shelters, tended to the horses, and built a fire, Tyrion took his leave. He wasn't much use in making camp, with his small body and stunted limbs. Tyrion found a comfortable spot just beyond the noise of the camp, beside a swift-running stream with waters clear and cold as ice. He was surprised to find Jon Snow sprawled in the undergrowth, one hand buried in the shaggy fur of his wolf. Snow never noticed Tyrion settling against an ancient oak until his albino beast did.

"Why do you read so much?" Snow asked as he sat up. He regarded him curiously.

"You never read back in Winterfell?" Tyrion questioned.

"I was in the yard with Robb," he answered, pushing some hair out of his eyes.

He closed the book on a finger and said, "Look at me and tell me what you see."

Snow gave him a suspicious look. "Is this some kind of trick? I see _you_ , Tyrion Lannister."

This time Tyrion allowed himself to sigh. "You are remarkably polite for a bastard, Snow. What you see is a dwarf. What are you, fourteen?"

"Sixteen."

"Sixteen, and you're taller than I will ever be. You say you never read because you spent time in the yard with your brother? I have never been given that opportunity. My legs are short and twisted. I couldn't possibly ever spar with my brother. He does his part to honor our House, and I must do mine. Yet how? Well, my mind is my weapon. My brother has his sword, King Robert has his warhammer, and I have my mind… and a mind needs books as a sword needs a whetstone if it is to keep its edge." Tyrion tapped the leather cover of the book. "That's why I read so much, Jon Snow."

The boy absorbed that all in silence. He had the Stark face if not the name: long, solemn, guarded, a face that gave nothing away. Tyrion recalled Jaime mentioning that the Lady Ashara Dayne left little of herself in her son.

"What are you reading about?" he eventually asked.

"Dragons," Tyrion answered.

"Dany likes to read the same type of books," Snow told him, getting up and walking over to him.

"Dany?" Tyrion repeated, not recognizing the name.

"Daenerys, I mean," he explained, toying with something wrapped around his wrist. "We all call her that."

"Ah." Tyrion understood now. "I met her in the library. She's a sweet girl."

He didn't miss the blush that colored Snow's cheeks.

"What good is reading about dragons?" the boy asked. "They're all gone."

"So they say," Tyrion replied. "Sad, isn't it? When I was your age, used to dream of having a dragon of my own."

"You did?" Snow asked warily.

"Oh, yes. Even a stunted, twisted, ugly little boy can look down over the world when he's seated on a dragon's back." Tyrion pushed the bearskin aside and climbed to his feet. "I used to start fires in the bowels of Casterly Rock and stare at the flames for hours pretending it was dragonfire. Sometimes I'd imagine my father burning. At other times, my sister."

Tyrion guffawed from the look of pure horror and fascination on Jon Snow's face.

"Don't look at me that way, bastard. I know your secret. You've dreamt the same kind of dreams."

"No," Jon Snow said, horrified. "I wouldn't..."

"No? Never?" Tyrion gave him a knowing look. "Well, it's no question the Starks have been terribly good to you. Your uncle must have good reasons for packing you to the Night's Watch—"

"Not by his choice," Snow said abruptly. The widening of his dark eyes made Tyrion realize that the boy hadn't meant to say that.

"By whose choice then?" Tyrion inquired.

"It doesn't matter," he muttered, scowling. "I am not their son. They owe me nothing. It was only a matter of time before I had to leave."

 _So_ _a hard life was chosen for him_ _,_ thought Tyrion.

He could take a guess at who would want the boy gone. Cersei had offhandedly commended the woman for keeping the boy around as long as she did during their travel to Winterfell. Tyrion just did not understand _why_ Lady Stark would want to send Snow away. He wasn't Eddard Stark's bastard.

"Why not return to Dorne?" Tyrion asked, approaching Snow. "You must have family at Starfall."

"And burden myself on them?" Snow demanded. When he spoke again, his voice was restrained. "The Night's Watch is a noble calling. I'd rather go with my uncle than someplace where who knows if they would take me in."

"Oh, you're too smart to believe that," Tyrion said, watching him. "The Night's Watch is a midden heap for all the misfits of the realm. I've seen you looking at Yoren and his boys. Those are your new brothers, Jon Snow."

His scowl deepened. "They will _never_ be my brothers."

"Oh, but they will. Peasants, debtors, poachers, rapers, thieves, and other bastards will become your new brothers. You all end up on the Wall, watching for grumpkins and snarks. The good part is there are no grumpkins or snarks. The bad part is you freeze your balls off, but I don't suppose that matters since you aren't allowed to breed. Does that sound more appealing than Dorne?"

" _Stop it_ ," Jon snapped, his fists trembling.

The wavering of his voice and the tears in his eyes made Tyrion realize he'd gone too far. Stepping forward, he intended to offer the boy an apology, but he never saw the wolf.

Suddenly, Tyrion was on his back, the book spiraling away from him as he fell. His breath was lost in his throat at the sudden impact, and his mouth was filled with dirt, blood, and rotten leaves. When he attempted to get up, his back contracted painfully. He lifted his hand to Snow and managed to cough out, "Help me."

The wolf stepped between them, silent as a shadow. He looked at him with bright red eyes and bared his teeth. Tyrion sagged back to the ground with a grunt. "Don't help me, then. I'll sit right here until you leave."

Jon Snow stroked Ghost's thick white fur, _smiling_. "Ask me nicely."

Anger flared inside him, but he forced himself to extinguish it. It wasn't the first time in his life Tyrion had been humiliated, and it wouldn't be the last. Perhaps he even deserved this.

"I should be very grateful for your kind assistance, Jon," he said mildly.

"Down, Ghost," the boy ordered. The direwolf sat on his haunches, his red eyes never leaving Tyrion. Jon Snow came around behind him and lifted him easily to his feet.

"Why did he attack me?" Tyrion asked, accepting the book handed to him. He wiped the blood and dirt from his mouth with the back of his other hand.

"Maybe he thought you were a grumpkin."

Tyrion gave him a sharp look, then snorted out an unbidden laugh. "Oh, gods," he breathed, shaking his head as he choked on his laughter. "I suppose I do rather look like a grumkin. What does he do to snarks?"

"You don't want to know." Jon Snow handed him the wineskin from the ground.

"Want some?" Tyrion offered after taking a swig. The wine was a refreshing stream of fire that settled in his belly. The boy took a tentative swallow.

"It's true, isn't it? What you said about the Night's Watch?" he said when he finished. Tyrion nodded, and Jon Snow's face turned grim. "If that's what it is, that's what it is."

He grinned at him. "That's good, bastard. Most men would rather deny a hard truth than face it."

"Most men," the boy said. "But not you."

"No," Tyrion admitted, picking up the fallen bearskin. "Not me. I seldom even dream of dragons anymore. Come, we had better return to camp before your uncle calls the banners."

The walk was short, but the ground was rough underfoot and his legs were cramping by the time they reached camp.

Benjen Stark emerged from the shelter he shared with his nephew. "There you are! Dammit, Jon, don't go off like that by yourself. I thought the Others had gotten you."

"It was the grumpkins," Tyrion chortled, and Jon Snow smiled. Stark shot Yoren a baffled look, but the old man merely grunted.

Tyrion shared his skin around the fire as they ate squirrel stew. Slowly, the company dispersed to their shelters and to sleep, leaving Tyrion sitting by the fire with Jon Snow who had drawn the night's first watch.

In the light of the fire, Tyrion noticed something black wrapped around Jon Snow's wrist as the boy stared deep into the flames. He saw something red at the end of the strips, and Tyrion wondered if it was a lady's favor. Could it belong to...? It _couldn't_ have. Jon Snow and... _her?_ Tyrion remembered the boy's blush at the mention of her name, and he couldn't stop the grin from spreading across his face. The noble bastard happened to have a less than noble secret, and it amused Tyrion wildly.

He remembered an old song, and hummed a verse that reminded him of Jon Snow's lady love.

 _I loved a maid as white as winter_

 _with moonglow in her hair_

He gave Jon a pat on the shoulder as he retired for the night.

* * *

Eight days.

His father and sisters were eight days gone and each day was more draining than the other. At the end of each day, Robb always thought, _I can't do this_ , but he managed to wake the next morning ready to endure the next set of problems. It didn't help that Jon had departed for the Wall. Why did he have to leave? Everything would have been easier if he remained here at Winterfell.

Robb found Daenerys sitting at a window seat at the end of the corridor, staring out into the darkness. There was a pensive expression on her face, one she seldom wore. Robb was used to her warm smiles and sweet laughter, not this reflective silence. She turned away from the window when she heard him approaching, and made room for him on the cushions.

"It feels like ages since we last spoke," Robb said as he settled back. "I hope you don't think I've neglected you."

"Never," she replied, resting her chin on her raised knees. "I understand you've been busy. You're practically Lord of Winterfell."

"Gods, who knew being a lord was so much work?" He looked out the window, taking in the clear night sky. He turned back to her when she nudged him with her foot.

"Your father would be impressed," Dany said, words muffled behind her knees. "I certainly am."

He smiled sheepishly. "Someone has to do it," Robb mumbled. He stared up at the ceiling for a moment, savoring the silence. "It's strange without everyone here, don't you think?"

Dany nodded. "And quieter. The only noise I hear is Rickon."

Like he was waiting to hear his name, Rickon tottered over to them crying. Robb withheld a groan. He thought leaving Rickon with one of the maids would soothe him. He was surprised when Dany moved off the seat and knelt before the crying boy. She pulled him into her arms and soothed him with soft words and a hand rubbing his back. Robb was relieved when Rickon's cries lessened. Ever since his mother's collapse, there was no one to care for the three-year-old. Robb didn't know what to do with him, and none of the maids or Maester Luwin could calm Rickon.

"You're good at that," Robb commented.

"At what?" Dany asked, stroking Rickon's uncombed hair.

"Mothering," he told her. She smiled at him, not the sad little one she gave him earlier, but a familiar one filled with warm and tender.

"I hope you do not expect me to mother any of your children," she jested, and Robb laughed. His laughter was cut short when he heard shouting from the sickroom, sounding uncannily like his mother.

Robb frowned at her. "Dany—"

She hoisted Rickon up as she stood to her feet. "I'll put him to bed. Your mother needs you."

He nodded, grateful, and turned in the direction of Bran's sickroom. His mother's voice grew louder as he neared, cracking like a whip in response to whatever Maester Luwin was asking of her.

"My son lies here broken and dying, Luwin, and you wish to discuss a new master of _horse_? Do you think I care what happens in the stables? Do you think it matters to me one whit? I would gladly butcher every horse in Winterfell with my own hands if it would open Bran's eyes, do you understand that? _Do you_?"

The small man bowed his head. "Yes, my lady, but the appointments—"

" _I'll_ make the appointments," Robb decided, and both seemed alarmed to see him standing in the doorway. His mother's face resembled that of embarrassment.

Maester Luwin looked from her to him. "I have prepared a list of those we might wish to consider for vacant offices," he informed Robb. He offered him a paper plucked from his sleeve.

Robb read the names. "Good men," he said, handing him back the list. "We'll talk about them tomorrow."

"Very good, my lord." The paper vanished into his sleeve.

"Leave us now," Robb commanded, then shut the door once Maester Luwin departed. "Mother, what are you doing?"

"What am I doing?" she echoed, puzzled. "How can you ask that? What do you imagine I'm doing? I'm taking care of your brother."

"Is that what you call it? You haven't left this room since Bran was hurt. You didn't even come to the gates when Father and the girls went south."

"I said my farewells to them here, and watched them ride out from that window." She took Bran's limp hand, twining her fingers with his. "I can't leave him, even for a moment, not when any moment could be his last. I have to be with him, if... if..."

Guilt filled him, and Robb made sure his voice wasn't so harsh when he said, "He's not going to die, Mother. Maester Luwin says the time of greatest dangers have passed."

"And what if Maester Luwin is wrong? What if Bran needs me and I'm not here?"

" _Rickon_ needs you," Robb snapped, his frustrations arresting him. "He's only three, he doesn't understand what's happening. He thinks everyone has deserted him, so he follows me around all day, clutching my leg and crying. Do you know who's with him now? _Daenerys_ and she has no obligations to care for him, yet she does." The weight of his responsibilities were finally catching up with him, and Robb felt overwhelmed. "Mother, _I_ need you too. I'm trying but I can't... I can't do it all by myself."

Perhaps it was the way his voice broke, but Mother finally seemed to understand what he'd been trying to tell her. Outside the tower, Bran's wolf began to howl. He opened the window and let the night air into the stuffy tower room. The howling grew louder, and it was full of despair.

"Don't," his mother told him. "Bran needs to stay warm."

"He needs to hear them sing," Robb said. He heard another wolf howl in chorus with the first, then a third. "Shaggydog and Grey Wind. You can tell them apart if you listen close."

His mother was shaking, and Robb wasn't sure if it was from the cold or the howling. Then she started to sob and tore her hand from Bran's to cover her ears. "Make them stop!" she cried. "I can't stand it, make them stop, make them stop, kill them if you must, make them _stop_!" She fell to the floor, weeping, and Robb lifted her up and held her.

"Don't be afraid, Mother. They would never hurt him," Robb murmured as he helped her to her narrow bed in the corner of the sickroom. "Rest. Maester Luwin tells me you've hardly slept since Bran's fall."

"I _can't_ ," she wept. "Gods forgive me, Robb, I can't. What if he dies while I'm asleep, what if he dies, what if he dies..." The wolves were still howling, and his mother screamed. "Oh, gods, close the window!"

"If you swear to me you'll sleep." Robb went over to the window, but as he reached for the shutters, he heard the hounds barking. He froze when he saw the flickering reddish light across the bailey. Fire, he realized. "The library tower is on fire."

"Thank the gods," he heard his mother whisper. Robb turned to look at her, unsettled. Had his mother gone mad?

"Mother, stay here. I'll come back as soon as the fire's out." He ran before she could say anything, shouting to the guards outside the room to help him put out the fire.

Guards were already tossing buckets of water at the blazing tower when Robb finally reached them. When they finally put out the fire, someone alerted Robb that Bran's wolf had ran into the sickroom, he gathered the maester and Ser Rodrik to see what was going on.

He hadn't expected to open the door to his mother shrieking with hysterical laughter, blood spattered over her face and oozing out of her wounded hand, nor to find her sitting near a man whose throat was ripped out. Most of all, Robb hadn't expected to see Bran's direwolf lying beside him on the bed, his fur dark with blood. When Mother finally stopped laughing, Robb wrapped her in a blanket and led her back to the Great Keep to her own chambers. He had Old Nan bathe her before Maester Luwin dress the wounds on her scalp and fingers.

 _I can't do this_ , Robb thought again as he headed back to his chambers. Everything seemed to be going horribly wrong ever since his father and sisters left. He let his mind drift to something more pleasant as he soaked in his bath, only he couldn't think of anything.

Robb was drying his damp hair with a towel when he heard a knock at his door. Slipping on a robe, he widened his eyes when it was Dany. She was already dressed for bed.

"I thought you were asleep," he said.

"I don't want to sleep alone," she admitted.

He hesitated, well aware of how improper it was for them to share a bed. Nothing had to happen in it, nothing _would_ happen in it. After all, they were like brother and sister, and Dany was lonely... but truth be told so was he.

Robb stepped aside to let her in.

* * *

Lady Stark was asleep for four days, her mind at ease from the milk of the poppy Maester Luwin provided her with after the attack. That put Robb in better spirits. It was too bad he was still too stressed to appreciate his mother resting.

"You'll soon start to grey," Dany teased one day. He didn't find the jape amusing.

She hadn't meant to spend the night with Robb, but her chambers felt so empty without his sisters she couldn't help but seek him out. The late nights of gossip and shy confessions would always be Dany's favorite memory of the girls. It felt like she had sisters of her own, but then the Usurper had to take that from her too. Just like he had to take away Jon.

Dany didn't mean to miss him as much as she did. He rejected her after all. She was so used to seeing him around Winterfell that it was _wrong_ without him here, and she wasn't the only one who missed Jon's presence. Robb seemed almost lost without his cousin, but he persevered. Dany didn't expect anything less from a Stark.

Bored, Dany wandered around Winterfell until she spotted Theon practicing with his longbow in the yard.

"You never miss, do you?" she asked after he released his last arrow.

Theon turned around, that familiar smirk on his face. "You grow lovelier with each passing day, my lady," he told her.

"You're courteous this morning."

"I'm _always_ courteous."

"When are you _ever_ courteous?"

"Right now I am."

Dany laughed and followed him as he collected his arrows. She watched him for a while and realized they should be closer. Theon was a ward like her and that should have already bonded them. His reasons for living with the Starks were just as grim as hers, yet he had a family that he could return to if Lord Stark permitted it when she did not. Perhaps that was what kept them from becoming close, that he was taken while she was saved.

"Theon?" she said, tentative. He glanced at her from over his shoulder. "Do you miss your home?"

"Sometimes," Theon admitted, considering her. "What made you ask?"

"I only ask because I wonder what it's like to…" Dany paused, trying to explain. "To have a home and miss it."

"Isn't this your home?" he questioned, gesturing to the castle behind them.

"Sometimes, but you know it isn't," Dany answered quietly.

For once, Theon stared at her without lust or annoyance. He shifted on his feet, about to say something, when someone called their names. Dany whirled to see Robb approaching them, dressed in boiled leather and ringmail with a sword hung at his waist. Robb's eyes widened at the sight of them, but told them that Lady Stark had woke. He wanted them to join him as he told his mother what they learned about her attacker.

The man killed by Bran's wolf was not a man of Winterfell. Some said they saw him about the castle for these past few weeks. Dany had a feeling he was one of the king's men. The man had hidden in the stables and Hallis Mollen, the new captain of the guard, found ninety silver stags in a leather bag buried beneath the straw.

"He must have been a thief," Robb had theorized. "Why else would he have a dagger made of Valyrian steel?"

"But there's nothing to steal in a sickroom," Dany pointed out.

"Maybe he was lost," Theon had said, shrugging. Robb snorted and Dany rolled her eyes.

It turned out, however, that there was more to the mysterious man than just being an ordinary thief.

* * *

After his supper with the Lord Commander, Tyrion realized he had yet to explore the immense Wall. He would ride south on the morrow and couldn't imagine himself returning to this frozen wasteland.

The iron cage took ages to ascend, but once it did, Tyrion watched the world dwindle. Even with only the moonlight, Tyrion could see how empty Castle Black appeared. The windowless keeps, crumbling walls, and broken courtyards were pitiful.

Finally, Tyrion stepped out of the cage and onto the ice. The two brothers weren't pleased with Tyrion's unannounced arrival, but left him to explore the vast white road. The footing was slicker than he would have liked, but he had no fear of falling. He passed a massive catapult, and on the far side of it, a muffled voice called out, "Who goes there? Halt!"

Tyrion stopped. "If I halt too long I'll freeze in place, Jon," he replied, watching the pale shaggy shape approach him silently and sniff at his furs. "Hello, Ghost."

Jon Snow moved closer. He looked bigger and heavier in his layers of fur and leather, the hood of his cloak pulled down over his face. He carried a heavy spear tipped in iron that was taller than he was, and a sword hung at his side in a leather sheath. Across his chest was a gleaming black warhorn, banded with silver.

"Lannister," he said, yanking loose the scarf to uncover his mouth. "This is the last place I would have expected to see you."

"This is the last place I would have expected to be seen," Tyrion admitted. "I was captured by a whim. If I touch Ghost, will he chew my hand off?"

"Not with me here," Jon promised.

He scratched the white wolf behind the ears. The red eyes watched him impassively. The beast came up as high as his chest now. Another year and Tyrion had the cheerless feeling he'd be looking _up_ at him.

"What are _you_ doing up here tonight?" Tyrion asked. "Besides freezing your manhood off..."

"I have drawn night guard," Jon answered flatly. "Again. Ser Alliser has kindly arranged for the watch commander to take a special interest in me. He seems to think that if they keep me awake half the night, I'll fall asleep during morning drill. So far I have disappointed him."

Tyrion grinned. "And has Ghost learned to juggle yet?"

"No," said Jon, smiling. "But Grenn held his own against Halder this morning, and Pyp is no longer dropping his sword quite as often as he did."

"Pyp?"

"Pypar is his real name. The small boy with the large ears. He saw me working with Grenn and asked for my help. Thorne had never even shown him the proper way to grip a sword." He turned to look north. "I have a mile of the Wall to guard. Will you walk with me?"

"If you walk slowly."

"The watch commander tells me I must walk to keep my blood from freezing, but he never said how fast."

 _Think of your white maid and your blood shall remain hot_ , thought Tyrion. He hadn't been able to pester the bastard about his lady love since his visit, but he planned to before he left. Tyrion was far too curious, and doubted Daenerys Targaryen would indulge him with her secrets.

"I leave on the morrow," Tyrion announced.

"I know." Jon sounded strangely sad.

"I plan to stop at Winterfell on the way south. If there is any message that you would like me to deliver..."

"Tell Robb that I'm going to command the Night's Watch and keep him safe, so he might as well take up needlework with the girls and have Mikken melt down his sword for horseshoes."

"Your brother is bigger than me," Tyrion laughed. "I decline to deliver any message that might get me killed."

"Rickon will ask when I'm coming home. Try to explain where I've gone, if you can. Tell him he can have all my things while I'm away, he'll like that."

"You could put all this in a letter, you know."

"Rickon can't read yet, and I had planned on writing one for Bran..." He stopped walking. "I don't know what message to send to Bran. Help him, Tyrion."

"What help can I give him? I am no maester to ease his pain. I have no spells to give him back his legs."

"You gave me help when I needed it," Jon Snow reminded him.

"I gave you words," Tyrion corrected.

"Then give your words to Bran too."

"You're asking a lame man to teach a cripple how to dance. However sincere the lesson, the result is likely to be grotesque," Tyrion said, frowning. "Still, I know what it is to love a brother, Lord Snow. I will give Bran whatever small help is in my power."

"Thank you, my lord of Lannister." Jon pulled off his glove and offered his bare hand. "Friend."

Tyrion was oddly touched by the gesture. "Most of my kin are bastards," he said with a wry smile. "But you're the first I've had to friend." He took off his glove and clasped Snow by the hand, flesh against flesh. The boy's grip was strong and firm.

When he had donned his glove again, Jon Snow turned abruptly and walked to the low, icy northern barrier. Beyond him the Wall fell away sharply, only darkness and the wild past it. Tyrion followed him, and side by side they stood upon the edge of the world.

"Do you miss her?" Tyrion couldn't help ask.

"Who?"

"Who else, bastard?" He snorted at the boy's denial. "The girl who's favor you wear every day."

"Often," he answered after a time, and there was a longing in his voice.

"Do you have a message for her?"

Jon continued staring into the darkness. Tyrion didn't rush him. He knew matters of the heart were a tender thing to speak of.

"No," Jon Snow finally said, and Tyrion remembered the Old Bear's words. _The young ones need to forget the lives they left behind_.

Perhaps the boy was beginning to learn that.

* * *

Tyrion Lannister's disastrous visit had flustered Robb, but the news of his uncle Benjen worsened his mood. The Lord Commander sent Benjen Stark to search for Waymar Royce, and he was late to return. The mere idea that his uncle could have been dead outraged Robb. The stress had been steadily building up, almost to a breaking point after his mother ventured to King's Landing to deliver some grievous news to Lord Stark. Daenerys decided that news about Jon could possibly cheer him up.

The youngest of the black brothers kept looking at Dany throughout supper.

She was used to the stares. Her unusual hair and eyes were something unseen by most men and women, and Dany suspected it had been a long while since the black brother had seen a woman. He was one of the companions to laugh when Yoren told them of Jon. "Ser Alliser's bane," he grunted.

Dany cornered the young man on his way to one of the guest rooms.

"Was the food to your liking?" she inquired.

"I-It was, m-m'lady," stammered the black brother.

"What's your name?"

"G-Gawen, m'l-lady."

"Do I make you nervous?" Dany asked, frowning. "That is not my intention."

Gawen's skin flushed red, and he could not look her in the eyes. _Best I get to the point_ , Dany thought.

"Might you tell me more about Jon Snow?" she requested, ignoring the faint ache in her heart. It still hurt to say his name.

"But Yoren told him how Snow was," Gawen pointed out.

"Not truly," Dany said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "Please? Robb loves him like a brother. He'd want to hear how well he's doing."

"The other recruits did not adore him," Gawen relented. "He bests them in the morning drill every time. Ser Alliser loathes him, but he loathes everyone. I heard he got in a fight with a couple of other recruits, but that same day, your lord sent a bird about the little lord here. Snow's been friendly with everyone since then."

She thanked Gawen and left him. Jon did not have Arya's easiness when it came to people, so Dany could understand his difficulties making friends. What could Jon have done to make an enemy out of the other recruits only to befriend them after a beating? Whatever it was, Dany was only glad he wouldn't be friendless at the Wall.

There was a sudden tightness in her chest and she clasped her skirts, struggling not to cry.

Daenerys didn't know how long she stood in that empty hallway, but when she finally collected herself, she headed to her own chambers. She soaked in her bath until the scalding water cooled, and would have gone to bed if Robb hadn't entered her room with a skin of sour red.

"You are lord of Winterfell now. I'm certain that permits you to better tasting wine," Dany said as she tossed some cushions onto the floor.

"I thought of bringing summerwine, but I remembered how _fond_ you are of this," Robb replied, plopping down on one of the cushions. He laughed when Dany whacked him with a pillow. "Try not to fall asleep this time. Jon isn't here to keep me company."

"Speaking of Jon." Dany joined him on the floor, and took a grudging sip of the sour red. "I hear he's doing well over at the Wall. He's even made some friends."

"Huh." Robb rested his back against her featherbed. "That's… interesting. Good for him then."

"I must find a horse for Bran," he suddenly said. "You like horses. Will you come with me to town to help find one?"

"May I get one for myself?" Dany asked, and Robb chuckled.

"We'll find one for you too," he agreed, "one silver for the silver of your hair."

They spent the next hour talking about everything except Robb's missing mother and his outbursts. The wine was lulling her to sleep, but then she heard Robb choke back a cry and she did not hesitate to pull him close. Dany rested her chin on top of his head, rubbing his back and paying no mind to the tears staining her shift.

"I miss them," he whimpered, holding onto her. "I miss Mother and Father and the girls and Jon... Gods, I miss Jon. He'd know what to do. He always knew what to do. Dany... I _can't_ do this."

"Yes you can," she murmured, threading her fingers through his hair.

"No, I can't," Robb insisted. "It's so hard. And today with the wolves..." Goose pimples prickled her skin as she remembered the savage attack the direwolves did to Tyrion Lannister. "It's hard, everything's so hard..."

"I know, I know," Dany sighed, his pain resounding with her. "It's hard now, but it'll get easier."

"When?" he asked, and he sounded younger than his fifteen years much to Dany's dismay. " _When_ , Dany? Because I cannot do this alone."

Dany let go of him and waited for him to raise his head. She reached over to thumb away his tears. "Do you know why I'm here?"

Robb shrugged. "Because you are my father's ward."

She slapped his arm, and he laughed. "Don't be an ass."

"Why are you here then?" he asked, humoring her.

"Because I know you can't do all this alone and I'm willing to help carry the weight."

He stared at her through the darkness then suddenly he embraced her, his hold tight and desperate. They stayed like that for a long time, and eventually he pulled away.

"I won't be seen as any less of a man now in your eyes, will I?" Robb jested, and Dany laughed.

"No," she assured him, pushing at his shoulder playfully. "You're one of the best men I know."

Even through the darkness, Daenerys could tell he was smiling. It warmed her aching heart, and she fell asleep without feeling miserable for once.

* * *

After Tyrion Lannister's departure, Jon's life at the Wall became unvaried. Mornings were for swordplay and afternoons for work. The black brothers gave new recruits different tasks to see where they belonged once they finished training. This morning, a new recruit arrived to the yard and Jon had no idea what to make of him.

He was the fattest boy Jon had ever seen. From his clothes and voice, everyone could see he was a southron lordling. What dumbfounded Jon was that the new recruit called himself a _coward_. He never met a man who would proclaim himself a coward. His friends were just as astonished.

When Jon finished his afternoon duties, he and Ghost headed to the common hall for the evening meal. His friends were at the bench nearest the west wall, laughing. Pyp was in the middle of a story. The mummer's boy could change his voice to fit whatever character was in his story. His tales always reduced them all to tears of helpless laughter, and Jon would have gladly joined them if he hadn't spotted Samwell Tarly sitting alone.

Jon knew all too well what it was like to be an outsider. He refused to let Tarly experience the same thing.

The fat boy's eyes widened at the sight of Ghost. "Is that a wolf?"

"A direwolf," Jon said. "His name is Ghost. The direwolf is the sigil of my father's House."

"Ours is a striding huntsman," Samwell Tarly said.

"Do you like to hunt?"

Sam shuddered. "I hate it." He looked ready to cry again.

"What's wrong now?" Jon asked him. "Why are you always so frightened?"

When Sam said nothing, Jon stood and suggested they go outside. Sam was immediately suspicious. "Why? What will we do outside?"

"Talk," Jon replied easily. "Have you seen the Wall?"

"I'm fat, not blind," Samwell Tarly snorted. "Of course I saw it. Who could miss it?"

He stood all the same, wrapped a fur-lined cloak over his shoulders, and followed Jon from the common hall, still wary, as if he suspected some cruel trick was waiting for him in the night. Ghost padded along beside them. "I never thought it would be like this," Sam said as they walked, his words steaming in the cold air. Already he was huffing and puffing as he tried to keep up. "All the buildings are falling down, and it's so… so…"

"Cold?" Jon supplied.

"I _hate_ the cold," Sam said miserably. "I thought I was going to freeze to death last night."

"It must have been warmer where you come from," Jon noted. He smiled when Sam told him about the first time he saw snow. "I have a friend who hates the cold. You two would get along."

Sam gave him a timorous smile.

"Are they going to make me go up there?" Sam asked, gaping at the wooden stairs leading up to the Wall. "I'll die if I have to climb that."

"There's a winch," Jon said, pointing. "They can draw you up in a cage."

He sniffled. "I don't like high places."

Jon frowned, incredulous. "Are you afraid of _everything_?" he asked. "I don't understand. If you are truly so craven, why are you here? Why would a coward want to join the Night's Watch?"

Samwell Tarly looked at him for a long moment then collapsed to the ground, sobbing hard enough to shake his whole body. Jon could only watch, not sure how to make the tears stop.

Thankfully, Ghost knew what to do. The white direwolf moved towards Sam and licked the tears off his face. The fat boy let out a startled cry then began to laugh. Jon laughed with him. After their laughter died down Jon joined him on the ground, and told him how he and Robb found the pups in the snow. Speaking about Robb made Jon remember Winterfell and somehow he ended up telling Samwell Tarly about his dreams.

Winterfell was always empty in his dreams. Even the ravens were gone from the rookery, and the stables were full of bones. Jon would run to the yard in hopes of finding Robb, but he wasn't there. The swords laid untouched on the hard-packed earth. He would seek out Arya inside the castle, but she was nowhere to be seen. Jon would scream for someone, for anyone.

"Do you ever find anyone in your dream?" Sam asked.

"Once," he admitted after a hesitant moment.

It was his most recent dream. After searching for his uncles and cousins, Jon found Daenerys instead. She was dressed as a bride, but her gown was covered in soot. He reached for her, but she ran. When Jon finally caught up to her, she looked at him with haunting eyes, then opened her arms to a streak of fire blazing towards them, welcoming it as it consumed her. Jon couldn't move and was only able to scream in agony from failing to save her.

"Daenerys," Sam echoed timidly. "She's the Mad King's daughter."

"She's not mad," Jon said sharply. He gave Sam an apologetic look. "She's my friend."

" _Just_ a friend?"

Jon decided there was enough talk of Winterfell. "Do you dream of Horn Hill?"

"No." Sam's face tightened. "I hated it there." He scratched Ghost behind the ear, brooding. After the silence had settled, Jon learned why a self-confessed coward was on the Wall.


	7. Chapter VII

**VII.**

It was the middle of the night when Daenerys awoke to someone knocking urgently at her door. She forced herself out of her bed and went over to answer it. Squinting, she could make out Robb through the dark.

"What is it?" she asked drowsily.

"Maester Luwin just woke me about a bird from King's Landing," explained Robb.

"Was the bird from your mother?"

Robb's jaw tightened. "No," he answered, fidgeting. "Let's talk inside."

Her sleepiness disappeared when she noticed the troubling look in Robb's eyes. Dany stepped aside to let him in, only somewhat surprised when both Grey Wind and Theon followed behind him. Even late at night, the older boy was smiling.

"I wish I was in your room under different circumstances," Theon told her.

"Not now, Theon," Robb warned him, before Dany was able to express her disgust. "Light the brazier, won't you? We need some light." He went over to the window and opened the shutters. She shivered from the cold.

"Alyn from King's Landing sent the message. Jory Cassel is dead. And Wyl and Heward as well. Murdered by the Kingslayer," Robb said once the room was no longer dark. He looked out the window. "May the gods give them rest."

Dany was shocked. She remembered Jory from when she was a little girl, how he'd toss her in the air until she was breathless with laughter. The Kingslayer's face surfaced in her mind, and loathing permeated from her belly and her throat.

"And that's not even the worst of it. Father was caught beneath a falling horse in the fight. Alyn says his right leg was shattered, and Maester Pycelle has given him milk of the poppy, but they aren't sure when... when he..." Robb couldn't continue, his expression pained.

"Oh, Robb." Dany moved towards him and pulled him into a tight embrace. He buried his face in her neck, his stubble scratching against her skin. "This must not be forgotten."

"Daenerys is right," agreed Theon when they pulled apart. There was no smile on his face, only a hungry look to it. "Call for the banners, Robb. Blood for blood."

For once, Dany could concur with Theon. She wouldn't put it pass the Lannisters to do something like this, especially after the possibility of the Kingslayer pushing Bran off the First Keep.

"Only a lord can call the banners," Dany reminded him.

"If Eddard Stark dies then Robb will be Lord of Winterfell," Theon replied, and Dany issued him an annoyed look. Could he have any less tact?

"He won't die, not Father," Robb insisted. "Still... the honor of the north is in my hands now. I must be strong for Bran and Rickon. I'm almost a man grown."

She remembered their missing companion. "Send word to Jon. He has the right to know."

Theon scoffed. "What's the good of telling the bastard? He's a man of the Night's Watch. Everyone knows crows don't take part in our battles."

 _Insensitive ass_ , thought Dany. "Perhaps he hasn't said his vows yet. There's still time. It would be wrong if he heard of this too late." She turned to Robb. "Right?"

For the briefest of moments, there was a frightened look on his face, but it vanished sooner than Dany glimpsed it. Swallowing thickly, Robb said, "Right."

Dany reached out to grasp his hand, twining her fingers with his. "You are not alone. We are here," she told him, and when she glanced at Theon's face, he looked surprise that he was included. Then she smiled. "And so will Jon."

* * *

Days after Robb called for the banners, he was startled when Daenerys announced she was going to personally deliver his message to Jon.

"No," Robb immediately said. "The Wall is no place for a girl. You remember what happened to Danny Flint. And a raven would reach him faster."

"The Lord Commander could burn it before Jon sees," Dany countered.

"Why would he do that?"

"Because he can't afford to lose a potential brother. I'm going, Robb."

He gave her a hard look, but she did not back down. When he realized she would go whether he permitted or not, Robb sighed. "If you're going, you'll need guards."

"One will suffice. I don't plan to make this a long trip."

"Three or I'll put a lock on your door to keep you from leaving," Robb warned.

Instead of glaring at him like he expected, she threw her arms around his neck. The sudden impact made him stumble. "Your gallantry will forever be treasured," she murmured against his cheek.

Watching her leave with Hayhead, Skittrick, and Wayn did not ease his worries. The Wall sheltered rapers and murderers. Dany was a beautiful girl and shared the same name as Danny Flint. Would she share the same fate as well? Robb could only hope not, for he had to focus on convincing his father's bannermen to join his cause.

* * *

Jon stood among the other recruits in the yard, bored and hoping Ser Alliser Thorne's droning would end before night fell. More than anything he wanted to go hunting with Ghost. The wolf was becoming restless, and Jon felt the same way. He felt confined within these walls, weary with the tasks he was assigned, and missed Winterfell more than he should. Jon would remind himself that it was never his home, but that never stopped him from thinking about his cousins and Daenerys.

He blinked, returning his attention to Ser Alliser when he heard him call out their names one by one.

"Toad. Stone Head. Aurochs. Lover. Pimple. Monkey. Ser Loon." He looked at Jon last. "And the Bastard."

Pyp whooped and thrust his sword into the air, oblivious to the reptile stare Ser Alliser fixed him.

"They will call you men of Night's Watch now, but you are bigger fools than the Mummer's Monkey here if you believe that. You are boys still, green and stinking of summer, and when the winter comes you will die like flies." Ser Alliser Thorne took his leave of them.

Jon and the seven boys named were surrounded by the others, laughing and cursing and offering congratulations. Pyp leapt onto Grenn's shoulders, and they tumbled to the ground, rolling and punching and hooting. Dareon dashed inside the armory and returned with a skin of sour red. When it was passed to Jon, drinking in his uncle's solar with Robb and Daenerys flashed in his mind. The wine was a bit harder to swallow afterwards.

Samwell Tarly stood alone beneath a bare dead tree in the corner of the yard. He shook his head when Jon offered him wine. "No thank you, Jon."

"Are you well?" he asked, frowning.

"Very well, truly." Sam's smile did not convince Jon. "I am so happy for you all. You will be First Ranger someday, just as your uncle was."

" _Is_ ," Jon corrected firmly. Everyone thought he was in denial over Benjen Stark's death, but Jon knew his uncle was alive.

"You plan on drinking that all yourself?" cried Halder. Pyp snatched the skin from his hand, while Grenn seized his arm. The smaller boy gave the skin a squeeze, sending a stream of red towards Jon. Halder howled at the waste of good wine, and soon snowballs were being pelted around the yard.

By the time the snowball fight ended, Sam was gone.

He knew Sam was frightened that they were leaving him alone with the likes of Rast and Ser Alliser. Without him or their friends, Sam was defenseless against them. Jon wondered what else he could do to help his friend. He thought about offering some words like Tyrion Lannister had done for him, but Jon was uncertain that it would have much impact on the self-proclaimed coward.

Pyp joined him on his search for Sam, concerned for their friend as well. Jon had no need to guess where Sam was hiding. As they passed by the rookery, Jon frowned when he saw three men wearing the uniform belonging to a guard of Winterfell. He didn't recognize them. Were they new? More importantly, why were they here?

"Jon, what is it?" Pyp asked.

"Those guards are from Winterfell," he said, watching them.

"Do you think they're here for you?" Pyp wondered.

That would be the obvious answer, but underneath the rookery was a stout wooden keep where the maester resided. Jon knew the maester was related to Daenerys. His belly coiled at the thought of her being here. He wanted to see if it was truly her, but the fear of disappointment kept him from moving in that direction.

"We should find Sam," Jon said instead.

It seemed Sam did not want to be found. Jon understood wanting to be left alone and decided to continue his search of Sam didn't show up for their meal later. That night, Three-Finger Hobb cooked the boys a special meal to mark the occasion. When Jon arrived at the common hall, the Lord Steward himself led him to the bench near the fire. The older men clapped him on the arm in passing.

Sitting with the other soon-to-be brothers, everyone was betting which position they would receive while gorging themselves. Ice filled Jon's belly when Dareon mentioned a visitor from Winterfell.

"A _girl?_ " repeated Toad, eyes widening. "What did she look like?"

"Fairer than any girl I'd ever seen," the singer answered. "Her hair is silver-gold and her eyes are amethysts. You must know her, Jon—Jon are you alright?"

Jon coughed up the blueberry he nearly choked on. He thanked Grenn for slapping his back before rising from the bench. He took his cloak from its hook near the door and shouldered his way out. Jon needed to see her for himself. What was she _doing_ here? She couldn't have come all this way for him.

Asking around for a silver-haired girl hadn't proved difficult. Men pointed him in the direction of the Commander's Keep. The Old Bear must have invited her for a meal in his quarters then. It wasn't often Castle Black received guests, much less ones of the fairer sex. Jon would wait.

Hours passed and Jon soon wished he brought Ghost to keep him company. Seconds before Jon decided to leave, he heard her voice. There was laughter in it, something Jon hadn't realized he missed. Then she was in his line of vision and for one slow beat of his heart he froze.

She hadn't changed. Jon wasn't sure what he was expecting, but she looked the same as when he left her. Fourteen wasn't much of a difference from thirteen. Her hair was gathered at the back of her head with a scarlet ribbon, shining like molten silver in the moonlight. He remembered the silken texture of it between his fingers.

"Dany," Jon called out, reaching towards her.

"Jon." Standing before him, Jon wondered if he grew taller or she remained short. Was she always this petite?

"Dany…" he breathed when she stepped forward into his arms. It was strange to hold her and feel her warm and solid. _Are you real?_

"Yes, I'm real." Dany's laugh was muffled in his chest. Jon blushed, and suddenly remembered the wine stains on his surcoat. He must have looked ridiculous.

When they pulled away, her smile was gone. She stared up at him with a look akin to the devastated one she had when she learned he was leaving for the Wall. "We need to talk, Jon."

The seriousness in her voice startled him. "What's wrong?" he asked, frowning.

"Is there a godswood?" she asked him.

"No. The closest one is beyond the Wall," Jon answered. "We can talk in my room."

"Lead the way." Dany took his hand, lacing their gloved fingers together. Jon swallowed thickly, hoping she didn't notice the falter in his step from the mere contact. It was silent for most of the walk to Hardin's Tower, with the exception of the chatter between the three guards trailing behind them. "You sleep _here?_ "

"It's not so bad," Jon said defensively, aware of how the broken battlement must have looked to her. "No one else sleeps here, so it's my own tower."

"Don't you get cold? There must be drafts at night."

"Ghost is around, and I don't mind the cold."

"Ah. I almost forgot you are one with winter."

Jon chuckled at that. "You make me sound like the Night King."

Her hand left his to clutch at his arm. "He won't come to steal me away, will he?"

His laugh was less quiet this time. "You're still afraid of him? He's not real, Dany, and if he was I'd keep him from kidnapping you."

He could feel the heat of her gaze. Jon fumbled with opening his cell where Ghost laid on the floor waiting. Dany pushed past him and dropped to her knees to hug the white wolf. It was a funny thing to look at. Half of the men at Castle Black feared the direwolf, but here was this slight girl playing with him like he was a lapdog.

"Leave us," Dany suddenly said, when she was done rubbing Ghost's belly. Jon heard the guards leave, murmuring something obscene that made him blush. Settling on his bed, Jon didn't have time to admire how Dany made herself comfortable when she told him, "Robb sent me. I have grievous news."

"Is it Bran?" Jon questioned, afraid of whatever news was for him.

"No." Her face was grave. "Lord Stark has been imprisoned. He's… he's charged with treason. They say he—"

" _No_ ," Jon said at once. "That couldn't be. My uncle would never betray the king!"

"I know, Jon," Dany murmured. The gentle edge to her voice made him listen. "Baratheon is dead. It's said Lord Stark plotted with Baratheon's brothers to deny Joffrey the throne."

It… this had to be a lie. His uncle Ned… a traitor? He loved the king like a brother. Eddard Stark would never dishonor himself. Jon shook his head, unable to believe it. Warm fingers touched his cheek, and Jon stopped shaking to look at her. Dany had ungloved her right hand at some point. Her fingers tugged at his hair, pulling him towards her until she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held him close. Jon could only hug her back.

"Robb wants you with him when he marches to Moat Cailin," she told him.

 _Robb_ , thought Jon. Robb was marching to Moat Cailin? Did he call for the banners? Of course he had. His cousin wouldn't allow such injustice to transpire. Dread spread throughout him as the news sunk in. His uncle was named a traitor and his cousin was leading an army to save him.

Dany pulled back, looking at him uneasily. "Please tell me you have not sworn yet."

"Not yet." Once he swore his vow, the Wall would be his home until he was old as Maester Aemon.

The relief on Dany's face was palpable. "Come back with me," she pleaded, grasping his hands. "You are no outlaw. You are not bound to this place. _Jon_ , do not stay here. Come back with me."

The thought of leaving Castle Black all behind crossed his mind too many times to count. This war Robb planned to wage was only more reason for Jon to return to Winterfell. He would only remember Lady Stark who would not welcome him. There was no place for him in Winterfell, no place in Dorne either. When Jon said this, Dany scoffed.

"She does not matter. You have your cousins that will welcome you," Dany told him. "Robb loves you like a brother, Jon. He needs you by his side."

"What about you?" Jon couldn't help ask.

Her cheeks blazed, but she did not stammer as she said, "And me. I miss you too."

His heart thrummed erratically. "I thought you hated me," he mumbled, averting his eyes.

"I wanted to," she admitted. "It would have been easier, but I couldn't. I care too much for you. You're my closest friend."

Dany looked up at him with something so profound in her eyes that Jon recognized it, but couldn't believe she'd ever feel _that_ for him. It made his heart race and his head swim with the petrifying idea of it. He swallowed thickly, overwhelmed.

"And what happens after we save my uncle and cousins?" Jon questioned, gripping the edge of the bed. "Will Robb have need of me then?"

"He may not," Dany acknowledged, "but he needs you now."

He remembered when he was fourteen and Robb declared that he was needed in Winterfell. There was no purpose then, other than to be Robb's companion. _There shouldn't be a purpose_ , thought Jon. Robb and Dany wanted him back, and that was all that mattered.

Guilt filled him abruptly. He never expected to form a bond with any of these soon-to-be brothers. Jon could imagine the looks of anger and disappointment he would receive when he'd break the news to them.

"Shit," he muttered. From the concerned look Dany gave him, Jon explained the situation with Sam and the rest of his friends.

She smiled fondly at him. "Snow is not an apt name for you."

Jon smiled, his heart lighter than it felt since he arrived to Castle Black. "I missed you, Dany," he confessed, the words proving difficult to say aloud.

"It would be quite rude if you didn't," Dany replied lightly. Jon laughed and pushed her playfully. "I won't rush you, but I'll be with my uncle until you're ready to leave."

That was it. Jon wouldn't be here to protect Sam, but if he spoke to Maester Aemon then perhaps his friend could survive the Wall. The Old Bear listened to the aged maester. Jon cupped Dany's face with his hands and kissed her.

"You're brilliant," he exclaimed as he pushed himself off the bed.

"Wha—where are you _going_?" Dany asked, confused.

"To see Maester Amon," he answered as he hurried out of the room. Hopefully the ancient man wasn't already asleep. It was too bad Jon wouldn't be around to see Samwell Tarly be accepted as a brother of the Night's Watch.

* * *

Much to Jon's relief, his friends and the Old Bear were understanding with him leaving. Dareon, to his embarrassment, gave him some unneeded advice on how to please a woman.

Dany kept a fast, unforgiving pace as she rode her mare through the wolfswood. The three guards—Hayhead, Skittrick, and Wayn—struggled to keep up. No stranger to her speeds, Jon considered it a challenge and raced her. "Centurions, the both of you," cursed Skittrick, panting when they took a small break.

It took them two nights to reach Winterfell. Predictably, Dany made it to the gates before any of them. She was grinning, with her face flushed red and windswept hair coming undone from its ribbon when Jon caught up with her.

She was beautiful.

"Apologies if the dust from my silver blinded you," Dany gloated.

"Arrogance does not suit you," Jon remarked. They shared a grin and rode their horses through the gates.

Jon had never seen as many strangers in all his years, not even when King Robert visited. He was relieved that Winterfell wasn't empty like in his dreams. Following Dany, Jon restrained himself from running to search for his cousin. It was ages until they found Robb walking with Lord Medger Cerwyn. Grey Wind noticed them before Robb did, bounding over to Ghost and sniffing at him. He paused from his conversation with Lord Cerwyn.

"Jon?" Robb said weakly. Unlike Dany, Robb looked different. His auburn hair fell to his shoulders uncut and unkempt since he turned fifteen, but the reddish stubble covering his jaw made him look older.

"I got your message," Jon told him hoarsely.

"My lord, we'll continue this later," Robb said, voice abruptly different. Deeper, sterner.

"Of course," Lord Cerwyn agreed, leaving them.

He and Robb openly stared at one another. Neither thought they would see each other again, at least not so soon. It felt like a thousand years had passed since they were in Winterfell together.

"You didn't...?" Robb trailed off.

"No, I didn't desert," Jon answered. He took in a shuddering breath then smiled. "I have to make sure you don't do something stupid in battle. I was always the better sword."

"Ha! You're such an ass." Robb grasped his forearm and pulled him into an embrace. "It's good to have you back, Snow."

"But it's true." Jon let out a relieved laugh when Robb punched his ribs. "Missed you too, Stark."

* * *

Moat Cailin looked no more than a death trap.

Despite the scattered blocks of black basalt, Robb knew that this ruin was more formidable than it seemed. He made his seat at the Gatehouse Tower and spent a week arguing with the northern lords about which course of action they needed take. Sometime during their twentieth council, Robb received a letter from Sansa.

His heart was lodged in his throat as he read the letter. She wrote how kind and gentle the Lannisters were treating her, but underneath the sweet words were threats. The Lannisters meant to keep her as a hostage. That only made him more concerned for her safety. Robb read the letter again, realizing he missed Arya's name, but to his dismay, she hadn't been mentioned once.

"She doesn't say anything about Arya," Jon pointed out, when he finished reading.

"I know," Robb said, miserable.

The councils worsened when they learned of the fighting in the riverlands. The riverlands fought a battle in the hills below the Golden Tooth. When the Kingslayer descended on them, one of the lords was slain while the other fell back to Riverrun, with Jaime Lannister following closely. Worst of all, during the fighting Lord Tywin was bringing a second Lannister army around the south, even larger than his son's host.

"Do you mean to meet Lord Tywin?" Jon asked when it was just them in the drafty hall.

"If he comes so far, but no one thinks he will," Robb replied. "I've sent word to Howland Reed, Father's old friend at Greywater Watch. If the Lannisters come up the Neck, the crannogmen will bleed them every step of the way."

"He's too smart for that," Dany said, much to their surprise. "He'll stay close to the Trident and take the castles of the river lords one by one until Riverrun stands alone. We must march south to meet him."

Robb and Jon shared an incredulous look. "How do you figure that one?" he asked her.

"I've studied Aegon's Conquest and the Young Dragon's Conquest of Dorne to learn the ways of war. Once you have an idea of how it works, it's possible to decipher better courses of action," Dany explained.

"The only question is where to march," Jon spoke up.

"And that question shall be answered tomorrow," Dany cut in. She stood, stretching her arms above her head. "I'm famished. Shall I get us a meal?"

"If you don't mind," Robb said, smiling.

The moment they left, Robb turned to Jon. He shook his head, laughing mirthlessly. "I can't believe this is real," Robb told him.

"What? That I'm here?" Jon asked lightly.

"That too," he admitted. "No, I'm talking about me leading an army. Jon, my father is locked up in some dungeon and could be killed any day now. Sansa is trapped with that little shit Joffrey, and Arya…"

"I know," Jon sighed.

"What if the fighting doesn't go against Cersei?" Robb asked him, afraid. "What if it goes against _us_?"

"It won't," Jon decided, unexpectedly brave. "We'll save them, Robb. We won't lose."

"We won't lose," Robb echoed. He smiled weakly. "It's really good to have you here, Jon."

Jon smiled. "The gods were good for letting me get your message in time. If you'd waited, I would have been a brother of the Night's Watch."

"Yes." Robb stared at him. "I suppose they are."

The next morning, Robb called for council and mentioned Dany's observation about Lord Tywin. He noticed the astonished glances the lords exchanged and it reminded Robb of how he felt last night when Dany first spoke up about it. Robb was aware of Dany's wit, but he never suspected her to have a fascination with war, much less study it.

"I say we take the battle to the Old Lion and surprise him," the Greatjon said.

"By all reports, he has more men than we do," Roose Bolton reminded him.

"That won't matter if we catch him with his breeches down," the Greatjon replied cheerfully.

"It seems to me that a man who has fought as many battles as Tywin Lannister won't be so easily surprised," pointed out Jon, thoughtful.

"Snow's right," said Robett Glover. "It'd be wiser to go around his army and join up with Tully and his men against the Kingslayer."

Glover's men and the Karstarks murmured in agreement. Robb could feel the weight of their eyes on him as he thought on their plans. If they tried to swing around Lord Tywin's host, they took the risk of getting caught between him and the Kingslayer. If they marched to Riverrun, Robb wasn't certain they'd make it in time to protect his uncle from Jaime Lannister.

"Both plans have virtues, but..." Robb flattened the map. "I'd leave a small force here to hold Moat Cailin, archers mostly, and march the rest down the causeway, but once we're below the Neck, I'd split out host in two. The foot can continue down the kingsroad, while our horseman crosses the Green Fork at the Twins. When Lord Tywin gets word that we've come south, he'll march north to engage our main host, leaving our riders free to hurry down the west bank to Riverrun."

He sat back, suppressing a smile.

Jon was staring at the map. "You'd put a river between the two parts of your army."

" _And_ between the Kingslayer and Lord Tywin," Robb said, keeping the eagerness out of his voice. "There's no crossing on the Green Fork above the ruby lord, not until the Twins, all the way up here, and Lord Frey controls that bridge."

"He's your mother's lord bannermen, isn't he?" Dany questioned, and Robb nodded.

"It's a good plan," admitted Lord Cerwyn. "I assume you'll lead the horse?"

"You assume correctly," Robb replied.

His eyes swept the room, considering each man in the room. He wasn't sure who he'd choose to lead the other. Perhaps the Greatjon? He should honor the fearless man since he was always going on about smashing Lord Tywin. Before Robb could announce who would lead the foot, Lord Wyman Manderly's son Ser Wendel and Ser Brynden Tully arrived. To his utter surprise, his _mother_ was among the knights.

Admittedly, Robb was happy to see her after so many months apart, but his content disposition wavered when he caught her looking at Jon and Dany sitting near him. It only further wavered when she revealed she no longer held Tyrion Lannister prisoner.

"No doubt we will have time for all this later, but my journey has fatigued me. I would speak with my son alone. I know you will forgive me, my lords," his mother said politely, but Robb sensed there was no arguing with her. Led by the ever obliging Lord Hornwood, the bannermen bowed and took their leave. "And you two," she added when Dany and Theon lingered.

Like Robb expected, his mother voiced her concerns over him leading a host to battle. Relief filled him when she decided not to send him back to Winterfell. He showed her Sansa's letter and mentioned that Jon believed the Lannisters may have lost Arya.

"Robb, why is Jon here?" she asked slowly. "He didn't desert, did he?"

"Mother, _no_ ," Robb answered, frowning. "He wouldn't do something like that. I sent him a raven before we marched to Moat Cailin and the Lord Commander let him go."

"And Daenerys?"

"She wanted to help and she has." Robb went on to tell her about Dany's observation, and like everyone else, seemed surprised. He noticed her hesitation. "What is it, Mother?"

"You aren't bedding her, are you?" she questioned, voice blunt.

Heat warmed him from the neck up. " _No_ ," Robb told her forcefully. "I would never bed her. She's like a sister to me."

She nodded, and Robb revealed his plans to defeat the Lannister host. To his immense satisfaction, she was impressed until she expressed her concerns for the Greatjon leading the eastern host.

"He's fearless. Grey Wind ate two of his fingers, and he _laughed_ about it."

"No. You want cold cunning, I should think, not courage."

"You want _Roose Bolton_?"

Chills ran down his spine at the thought of Roose Bolton. He looked like any other man, plain of the face, beardless and ordinary, but the only noticeable thing about him were his eyes, so pale and eerie to stare into. Each time their eyes met during the feasts, his body would go cold.

"I'll think about it," he decided after a tense moment. "I'll assemble an escort to take you home to Winterfell."

"I'm not going to Winterfell," he heard her say. "My father is dying behind the walls of Riverrun. My brother is surrounded by foes. I must go to them."

* * *

 **A/N:** So the biggest changes in these edited chapters is this right here. I remember one reviewer mentioned that they liked when Dany went to the Wall in the original fic and I'm thinking, "Why didn't I keep that?" so here it is. Hope you guys liked the edited fics so far and keep reading!


	8. Chapter VIII

**VIII.**

Vibrant hues of orange and red colored the sky as the sun descended. It was the only beautiful thing among the black bogs of the Neck. Daenerys always wanted to explore the world beyond Winterfell, but not under these circumstances. She supposed fate was just that cruel.

She and Jon rode near the front of the column, just a few paces behind Robb and one of his lords he invited to join him at the head, conferring as they marched. Robb honored every man in turn, showing no favorites and weighing the words of one against the other. It was something that reminded her of Eddard Stark.

Men watched her. Some even questioned Robb outright why he brought her along. When he couldn't evade the questions, he gave them nebulous answers that confused them further. She appreciated him for that, but Dany understood their doubt. What could a short, weak, _Targaryen_ girl do to help them? The answer came as clear to her as Robb's responses to the lords. Nonetheless, Dany was determined to help in her own Targaryen way, even if she had yet to figure it out herself.

"Something on your mind?" asked Jon. His voice had deepened since he left for the Wall, though it still retained that subdued tone that never left—except when he was drunk during the feast for the visitors. Dany could never forget how he slurred his words or his groggy smile.

 _Your family,_ she thought. There was no need to remind him of the dangers they were in. Instead, she blew a strand of hair out of her face and smiled at him. "I'd race you, but I fear Lady Stark would have my hide."

"Or the Lannisters," he reminded her.

"I can handle lions," she replied, and Jon laughed.

"Of course," Jon said, smiling.

That night they made camp on the southern edge of the bogs, halfway between the kingsroad and the river. She and Jon sat with the Smalljon, Patrek Mallister, Robin Flint, Torrhen and Eddard Karstark, Daryn Hornwood, and Dacey Mormont on some logs. They waited for one of the Blackfish's scouts to return with news.

She was laughing at one of Mallister's bawdy tales when someone's hands slapped down on her shoulders, shaking her. Dany nearly jumped out of her bones. She scowled when laughter surrounded her, deepening it when it turned out to be Theon.

Dany pushed him off, but he continued to cackle as he crouched down beside her. "It's a shame the Lannisters didn't capture you."

"Ah, it was my love for you that kept me going," Theon replied, grinning.

"Piss off, Greyjoy," she said, and he laughed again. "You have news?"

"No. I came back for this." Theon took the flagon of ale being passed around and took a careful mouthful of it. "Of course I have news."

Rolling her eyes, Dany and Jon stood and followed him back to Robb's tent. Theon's news brought some comfort about Tywin Lannister, yet more trouble. The river was running too high and fast for them to cross the Green Fork. The other option was to cross through the Twins. Lady Stark did not seem encouraged when Theon added that Lord Walder Frey was defending his land against the Lannisters.

"Lord Frey is not _that_ unreasonable, is he?" Dany asked the older woman. "He cannot hope to hide in his castle from both us and the Lannisters."

"He would," Lady Stark replied. "He's done such a thing before."

"Then we negotiate," Dany decided.

"And if _that_ does not work?" Robb asked her. He was anxious and frustrated. Even his direwolf paced around the tent.

"We take the Twins."

They looked at her, shocked.

Theon smiled at her. "Shall we call you Daenerys the Conqueror now?"

Her cheeks warmed from the jest, only growing hotter when Lady Stark shot them both disapproving glances. "Not easily," she warned them, "and not in time. While you were mounting your siege, Tywin Lannister would bring up his host and assault you from the rear."

Robb looked at Jon, clearly asking for help. When he didn't get an answer, Robb turned back to his mother. "What would my father do?"

"Find a way across," she told him. "Whatever it took."

The next morning, Dany left her tent and went to the edge of camp where she saw the river. Her throat was dry when she woke and wine would not quench her thirst. She scooped some water with both of her hands and drank. Dany drank more and more until a hand touched her shoulder, making her nearly cough it up.

"Theon—" Dany began, prepared to reprimand him for scaring her again. Her words dried up in her throat when she met pale, empty eyes.

"My lady, you're trembling," said Roose Bolton, his voice ever so quiet.

She was unsure if it was the fear sinking deep into her flesh or his penetrating gaze that held her there. Roose Bolton stared at her with eyes that swallowed all light but reflected none.

"If another man found you like this, he would take you right here on the grass," Lord Bolton told her. "I know my bastard wouldn't even have waited for you to finish drinking. If I were less restrained I would be more inclined to do the same, but you are... _close_ with Lord Robb, are you not? He must have tumbled you a hundred times by now."

Dany was too afraid to speak.

"It's only because of him I won't lay you down and have you right now," he continued, unbothered by her silence. "It would be in your best interest not to mention our little encounter, my lady."

He nodded at her before leaving her alone. She was still shaking when she returned to the bustling camp. Pausing only to steady her breathing, Dany went to Jon who fed Ghost outside of his own tent.

"Are you alright?" he asked, frowning.

If she spoke, Dany was afraid she might cry. Instead she nodded and ruffled the fur between Ghost's ears. He nudged at her hand with his damp nose before returning to his meal.

"Any news?" Dany asked, when she had the courage to speak.

"Nothing good," Jon admitted, grim. "There has been a battle under the walls of Riverrun. The Kingslayer has destroyed Ser Edmure's host and sent the lords of the Trident reeling in flight."

"And Ser Edmure?"

"Wounded and taken prisoner. Lord Blackwood and the other survivors are under siege inside Riverrun, surrounded by Lannister's host."

Dany remembered Robb's uncle. Ser Edmure had copper hair compared to Robb's auburn, but the man could be Robb in a distant future.

Robb stepped out of his tent, fretful. "We're meeting with Lord Frey," he announced.

It was near midday when their vanguard came in sight of the Twins, where the Lords of the Crossing had their seat. The northern lords studied the castle to find a way to strike it, but to no avail, it could not be assaulted. As a murmur grew among the lords, a sally port opened and a plank bridge slid across the moat with a dozen knights riding forth to confront them, led by four men.

"My lord father has sent me to greet you, and inquire as to who leads this mighty host," said the oldest of the knights. He looked past sixty, and reminded Dany of an old weasel.

"I do." Robb spurred his horse forward. He was in his armor, with the direwolf shield of Winterfell strapped to his saddle and Grey Wind padding by his side.

The old knight looked at her friend with faint amusement in his rheumy eyes, though his gelding whickered uneasily and sidled away from the direwolf. "My lord father would be most honored if you would share meat and mead with him in the castle and explain your purpose here."

His words were drowned out by the cursing and shouting of Robb's bannermen. Each protested the suggestion of Robb going inside alone, but Dany saw Jon spur his horse near Robb's to murmur something to him. He looked at his cousin, a silent message passing between them that Dany could not decipher through the noise.

" _I_ will go," decided Lady Stark, raising her voice above the uproar.

"You, my lady?" The Greatjon asked, confused.

"We'll go together," Robb corrected, turning away from Jon.

" _Good_ ," she mouthed to him, nodding. Lords were not supposed to flinch in fear of confrontation. She would have gone herself, but she was no lord. Once a princess, but that was another time.

"I am certain my lord father would be pleased to speak to the both of you," Ser Stevron said, pleased. "To vouchsafe for our good intentions, my brothers Ser Perwyn and Ser Hosteen will remain here until you both return."

"They shall be our honored guest," said Jon. The northern lords all turned to him. No doubt the commanding tone in his voice startled them. "We do not mean to linger here long, Robb."

"Right." Robb waited for Ser Perwyn and Ser Hosteen to dismount and hand the reins of their horses to a brother before spurring his horse forward alongside his mother's.

Dany watched them disappear into the Twins and hoped this toll Lady Stark spoke of wouldn't harm _them_.

* * *

Robb heard the rumors of Lord Walder Frey. It was said he could easily form an army with the many sons, grandsons, great-grandsons, and bastards he had. He believed it when he saw them, along with his daughters, granddaughters, and great-granddaughters surrounding him and his mother as they were welcomed in the great hall of the east castle. They gawked at the sight of Grey Wind who Robb refused to keep in the kennels.

Lord Walder was ninety, a wizened pink weasel with a bald spotted head, too gouty to stand unassisted. His newest wife, a pale frail girl of sixteen years, walked beside his litter when they carried him in.

"It is a great pleasure to see you again after so many years, my lord," his mother said. "This is my son Robb."

"My lord. Thank you for meeting with me," Robb said.

"Not by choice," the old man grumbled, watching them suspiciously. "I am too old for courtesies. Let's get to the point. Why are you here?"

"Father," Ser Stevron said reproachfully, "you forget yourself. Lord Robb and Lady Stark are here at your invitation."

"Did I ask _you?_ You are not Lord Frey yet, not until I die. Do I look dead? I'll hear no instructions from you."

"This is no way to speak in front of our noble guests, Father," chastised one of his younger sons.

Robb watched uncomfortably as Lord Walder berated the boy, a bastard named Ryger. Lord Walder dismissed him before gesturing to two of his other sons. "Danwell, Whalen, help me to my chair."

They shifted Lord Walder from his litter and carried him to the high seat of the Freys, a tall chair of black oak whose back was carved in the shape of two towers linked by a bridge. His young wife crept up timidly and covered his legs with a blanket. When he was settled, the old man beckoned his mother forward and kissed her hand.

"There," he announced. "Now that I have observed the courtesies, my lady, perhaps my sons will do me the honor of shutting their mouths. Why are you here?"

 _You know why_ , Robb wanted to say. "To open your gates, my lord," he answered politely. "My bannermen are eager to cross the river and be on our way."

" _Heh_ ," huffed Lord Walder. "They call you a lord, but you are still a child. And where might you be headed? I have an idea, but humor me."

"Riverrun," Robb replied, unfazed by his comment. He heard enough of it back when he was gathering strength in Winterfell.

"Where we might have expected to find _you_ , my lord," his mother added. "You are still my father's bannerman, are you not?"

"I called my swords, yes I did, here they are, you saw them on the walls. It was my intent to march as soon as all my strength was assembled. Well, to send my sons. I am well past marching myself, Lady Catelyn." He looked around for likely confirmation and pointed to a tall, stooped man of fifty years. "Tell her, Jared. Tell her that was my intent."

"It was, my lady," said Ser Jared Frey. "On my honor."

"Is it my fault that your fool brother lost his battle before we could march?" He leaned back against his cushions and scowled at her. "I am told the Kingslayer went through him like an axe through ripe cheese. Why should my boys hurry south to die? All those who did go south are running north again."

"Reaching Riverrun is my priority. As my grandfather's bannerman, it should be yours as well," Robb said hotly. Suddenly, the old man yelled at his kin to leave them to speak in private. One girl passing by caught Robb's eye. She had long, pale brown hair and snow white skin. When she noticed him staring, she gave him a smile that shot straight into his groin.

Once they were alone, the old man stared at Robb with a calculating look. "You forget I swore oaths to the crown too. Joffrey's the king now, and that makes you and all those fools out there no better than rebels. If I had the sense the gods gave a fish, I'd help the Lannisters boil you all."

"Go outside and see the twenty thousand men I have outside your walls," Robb challenged.

"They'll be twenty thousand fresh corpses when Lord Tywin gets here," the old man shot back. "Don't you try and frighten me, _boy_. Your father's in some traitor's cell under the Red Keep, your grandfather's sick, might be dying, and Jaime Lannister's got your uncle in chains. What do you have that I should fear?"

Robb clenched his fists. Was this fucking crossing even worth it? He released his fists and buried his right hand in Grey Wind's fur, scratching the wolf behind his ears. "Why not let us boil?" he asked, restrained.

Lord Walder made a disdainful noise. "If Lord Tywin wants my help, he can bloody well _ask_ for it."

His mother looked at him, but Robb hesitated. He didn't _want_ to ask for help, especially from a miserable old man like him. _Father, Sansa, Arya,_ he reminded himself. Robb swallowed his pride and said, "I am asking for help, my lord."

"Why should I help you? The Tullys and the Starks have never been friends of mine." He pushed himself back in his chair and crossed his arms with a smirk, waiting for her answer.

Initially, Robb agreed to Lord Walder's terms. Two of his grandsons would be fostered at Winterfell. He would have one of Lord Walder's sons—Olyvar—become his personal squire. Robb was unsure how he could have a knight when he _himself_ wasn't knighted, but didn't question it. Then the terms started to become unreasonable.

"If your sisters are safely returned, the youngest shall marry my youngest son Elmar—"

" _No_ ," Robb immediately said. He ignored the startled look his mother gave him. "I do not consent to that."

"And why not?" demanded Lord Walder. "Do you think my Elmar is not good enough for a Stark?"

"Yes, Robb, _why not?_ " his mother questioned.

 _Because she is my sister_ , Robb thought. The Freys were not a House he wanted to associate with, much less want his sister to marry into. If this was what it took to cross and save them then…

"I'll marry one of your daughters," he declared.

Robb wanted to tear the smug grin off the old weasel's face.

By the time he and his mother reached the castle gates, the red sun could barely be seen against the western hills. They crossed at evenfall and it took hours for them all to cross. The larger part of the northern host, pikes and archers and great masses of men-at-arms on foot, remained upon the east bank under the command of Roose Bolton. Robb had commanded him to continue the march south, to confront the vast Lannister army coming north under Lord Tywin.

He hoped this crossing wasn't a misstep.

* * *

The night was warm in these woods.

Beneath the trees, warhorses whickered softly and pawed at the moist, leafy ground, while men made nervous jests in hushed voices. Hallis Mollen had asked the honor of protecting Daenerys and Lady Stark in the battle to come, and Robb hadn't refused him. Thirty men surrounded them, charged to keep them unharmed and see them safely returned to Winterfell if the fighting went against them. She and Lady Stark both agreed thirty was too much, but it was better than the fifty Robb wanted.

"Is waiting always this hard?" Dany asked the older woman. She sat restless atop her horse.

"It never gets easier," she answered, candid. "But I'm content to wait. I've done it my whole life."

She went back to watching her son, and Dany followed her gaze. If Robb was frightened, he gave no sign of it. He moved among the men, touching one on the shoulder, sharing a jest with another, helping a third to gentle an anxious horse. He was in his armor, but had yet to put on his helm. Robb looked bigger, and would look even stronger with the helm on. She wondered if it had the same effect on Jon, but she hadn't seen him since earlier today.

Dany's insides coiled with fear. What if she never saw him again? Would the Lannisters take him from her too? She quickly dismounted, wishing to speak to him one last time before he rode off into battle.

"Have you seen Jon?" Dany asked Robb

"He's around," Robb answered, gesturing to the moonlit forest. "No need to fret, Dany."

"I'd be a terrible friend if I don't." She kissed his stubbled cheek. "Stay safe."

"I will," he promised.

Theon saw her when she continued her search for Jon and begged for a kiss. "It'll give me strength," he insisted. Rolling her eyes, Dany leaned up to kiss him on the cheek, but he turned his head sharply and kissed her on the lips. The men nearby muffled their laughter as Dany pushed him away.

Dany found him easing his warhorse's nerves, and he hadn't noticed her until Ghost moved from his side to sniff at her. She ruffled the albino's wolf's fur and looked at Jon. His black armor shone in the moonlight. Like Robb, his head was bare of the helm. Underneath the bulk of armor, Dany knew there was lean muscle.

"Dany?" Jon said, concerned. She wanted to laugh. He was always worried about her, even when there was a battle approaching. Dany supposed it was her turn now.

Something wet rolled down her cheek to her lips, and she blinked rapidly. This was his first battle. He didn't need some sobbing girl being the last thing on his mind. Wiping her unbidden tears with her hand, she moved closer to him and stood on the tips of her toes to brush her lips against his hairless chin before moving up to his lips. He ducked his head to kiss her back softly. It was not enough, but it sent a shiver through her all the same.

"Protect each other," she said when he drew away, "and come back safe."

He took her back to Hallis Mollen and Lady Stark, watching her mount her silver once more before mounting his own steed. They returned in time to see Olyvar Frey help Robb mount up. He strapped Robb's shield in place and handed up his helm. Robb disappeared and a tall young knight took his place. Jon put on his own helm and left to join Robb's battle guard as they formed up.

No one objected to Robb receiving protection. Many of the lords bannermen's sons clamored for the honor of riding with the Young Wolf, a formidable nickname given to Robb not too long ago. It reminded Dany of her forebear Daeron I Targaryen, known as the Young Dragon. Torrhen Karstark and his brother Eddard were among his thirty, and Patrek Mallister, Smalljon Umber, Daryn Hornwood, Theon, no less than five of Walder Frey's many sons, along with many older men like Ser Wendel Manderly and Robin Flint.

One of his companions was Dacey Mormont, Lady Maege's eldest daughter and heir to Bear Island. She towered over some of the men, and fought with more experience than Robb. "I was given a morningstar instead of a doll," she once told Dany. Some of the other lords complained about a woman joining them, but Dany found their complaints absurd.

"A woman raised by bears is no woman to be trifled with," Dany had snapped, having heard enough of their protests. Their complaints ceased, and Dacey had shot her a grateful look. Dany respected women like Dacey and her mother.

The woods grew still around them. In the silence, Dany could hear them from an approaching distance. Her pulse throbbed in anticipation. She looked at Lady Stark, and saw how tight she gripped the reins for her horse. Lady Stark blinked in surprise when Dany reached for her hand. She clutched her hand and they waited.

Her breath hitched in her throat when she saw him. It was only for an instant, but she couldn't miss the Kingslayer. The moonlight silvered his armor and the gold of his hair, and turned his crimson cloak to black. _He's brave_ , observed Dany when she noticed his missing helm. She froze when the woods suddenly erupted with the screams of men and horses.

Then the battle surrounded them. Drums thundered around them, but it was not enough to drown out the raw sounds. The clash between steel rang harshly in her ears. Trees stirred as arrows zoomed through the woods. Wooden shields broke on impact of swords. Everything was heard so clearly in these woods. Goose pimples prickled her skin when she heard a man's throat get ripped apart by Grey Wind—or was it Ghost? Jon's direwolf made no sound, but Robb's howled into the darkness.

Steadily, the sounds dwindled until there was only Grey Wind. Red painted the sky in the east, and Dany wondered how many hours passed. Robb came back to them on a different horse. The wolf's head on his shield was slashed half to pieces, but Robb himself seemed unhurt. When he came closer, however, Dany could see that his mailed glove and the sleeve of his surcoat were black with blood. She dismounted and moved to inspect his bloody arm.

"Are you hurt?" she asked, heart pounding loudly in her chest.

Robb got off his horse, his feet landing on the ground with a thud. He lifted his hand, opening and closing his fingers. "No," he answered. "This is... Torrhen's blood, perhaps, or... I don't know."

He was no stranger to death, but this was his first battle. Throughout the battle, Dany was certain it was just as unsettling as it sounded. If Robb was frightened like Dany was, he could not show it. Especially not to the mob of men following him up the slope. They were dirty and battered, but _grinning_ with Theon and the Greatjon at their head. Between them they dragged the Kingslayer. They threw him down near her and Robb, directly in front of Lady Stark.

The Kingslayer raised his head, surprise flitting his eyes when he saw Dany. Blood ran down one cheek from a gash across his scalp. "Lady Stark. Daenerys Targaryen," he said from his knees. "I would offer you my sword, but I seem to have mislaid it."

"It's not your sword I want, ser," Lady Stark told him from atop her horse. "Give me my father and my brother Edmure. Give me my daughters. Give me my lord husband."

"I have mislaid them as well, I fear."

"A pity," the older woman said coldly.

"Kill him, Robb," Theon urged, pulling out a dagger with his free hand. "Take his head off."

"No," Robb answered, peeling off his bloody glove. "He's more use alive than dead. And my lord father never condoned the murder of prisoners after a battle."

"A wise man," Jaime Lannister said, "and honorable."

A maelstrom of fury befell upon her. What the hell did a man called the _Kingslayer_ know about honor? She snatched the dagger from Theon's hand, yanked the Kingslayer's head back by his hair, and pressed the steel to his throat. She nicked him with the blade and watched a thin trail of blood trickle down the column of his throat. There was a peculiar sense of pleasure seeping through her from having him at her mercy when only months ago his presence terrified her.

"Daenerys," Robb warned. He grabbed her elbow from behind her. "I loathe the Lannisters as much as you do, but he needs to stay alive."

Dany looked over her shoulder when his hand tightened around her elbow. It wasn't Robb touching her, but Jon. She nearly dropped the dagger when she saw him. Relief succeeded over rage. Squeezing the leather handle of the dagger, she finally pulled it from the Kingslayer's throat.

"Take him away and put him in irons," Robb commanded, "and make certain there's a strong guard around him. Lord Karstark will want his head on a pike."

"That he will," the Greatjon agreed, gesturing. The Kingslayer was led away to be bandaged and chained. The Greatjon patted Dany on the back as he followed their prisoner.

Dany forced herself to listen to Robb's recount of the battle. The Kingslayer killed both of Lord Karstark's sons, and Daryn Hornwood as well. He nearly killed Robb if it weren't for them. Her focus kept straying to Jon. He carried himself stiffly, wincing with every movement. She flinched when someone's hand reached for hers. Her cheeks warmed as Jon took the dagger from her hand and returned it to Theon.

"Come on," she murmured, tugging Jon towards the healer's tent.

* * *

The juncture of his shoulder and neck was wounded. Jon hadn't noticed the gash until he removed his armor. The battle was more thrilling than it should have been.

"You don't have to stay with me," Jon said, when Daenerys had remained in the tent. Everyone was celebrating their victory, passing around ale and singing. He figured Robb was with his men out of duty rather than genuine enthusiasm. He only had to look into Robb's eyes to see the discouragement.

"And leave you all alone?" she questioned, affronted.

"Ghost is with me," he pointed out. Jon reminded himself to clean Ghost's coat once they reached Riverrun when he noticed the blood sprinkling it.

Dany frowned at him so severely he gave up. Once his wound was cleaned and bandaged, Dany dismissed them. Jon stood and shrugged on the tunic Dany brought him. He paused, realizing how small the tent was with just them inside it.

"We should find Robb," Jon suggested.

"He isn't going anywhere," Dany murmured, petting Ghost's head absently. She gestured for him to sit beside her on the cot and Jon could only comply. "I was worried about you."

"Don't be," he said, the words unthinking. She frowned again. "I mean, thanks. No, wait—don't worry about me."

"Why shouldn't I worry about you?"

"If I die—"

" _Don't_ say that."

"— _If_ I die, I would rather you not mourn me."

Dany stared at him, her violet eyes ardent and penetrating. "Okay," she said, nodding. "I will exact retribution instead."

He believed her. Her gentle heart hid a fierceness that Jon had never seen until the Kingslayer was on his knees before her. Jon did not have to imagine how far Dany would go if either he or Robb were killed.

"I'd do the same for you," Jon told her, voice suddenly hoarse. He remembered the sweetest kiss she gave him before he rode off to battle Jaime Lannister. "… Can I kiss you again?"

Her eyes widened, head tilting slightly. Something deep stirred in his heart from the openness of her gaze. Jon felt lost thinking she could be his forever—or however long she wanted him.

She leaned forward and kissed him. It was a short, chaste kiss that made Jon long for her. He realized she hungered for the same thing when her second kiss became more insistent. Jon meant to ask if she minded the sweat and grime on his skin, but the way she sucked on his lower lip made him forget his words and surrender to her completely. Dany moved closer, pressing her chest into his. Jon reached up to free her hair from the ribbon securing it. His fingers tangled themselves in her sleek hair to tilt her head away from his mouth so he could bury his face in her neck. He breathed in her scent, biting back a moan when she trembled.

" _Jon_ ," she breathed, and he shuddered at the bolt of desire through his veins.

"Jon, what the hell is taking you so…?" Jon broke away when he heard his voice. He turned around to see Robb standing at the entrance of the tent, surprised.

Robb recovered a moment later. "My mother has been asking for you, Daenerys. You should go keep her company."

"That's the second time you've called me Daenerys," she noted. "I'm starting to think you're upset with me."

"I'm not," he assured her.

Dany glanced at Jon then left the tent to join the commotion. Grey Wind joined Ghost on the floor, nudging his littermate. The cot shook as Robb sat down beside him. Neither said anything.

"So." Robb cleared his throat. He shifted awkwardly. "Have you two always been…?"

"For some time," Jon answered, feeling as awkward as Robb looked. "She kissed me when Uncle told us the king was visiting, then I kissed her after the feast and…"

"That explains things," Robb muttered, and Jon turned to look at him. "She was so sad when you left, I just thought it was because, well, you and the girls left too and Bran… Do you love her?"

 _Do I love her?_

"I do," Jon admitted.

Robb took in his words then nodded, a small smile crossing his face. "Good for you, Jon," he finally said. "Perhaps after we save Father and the girls I can, well... give you..." He stood abruptly and helped Jon off the cot. "We need to get thoroughly drunk tonight. I don't want to think about Torrhen and Eddard."

Jaime Lannister impaling Eddard Karstark's neck and taking off his brother Torrhen's hand filled Jon's head, and he blinked them back. He forced his arm to move up and slap Robb on the back.

"Let's get drunk then," he said and they left the tent.

* * *

The war council went on well into the night once they reached Riverrun, which Daenerys found cruel. Robb, Jon, and Lady Stark had not a chance to properly grieve since the news of Ned Stark's death reached them. Dany herself cried, sorrow seeping through her when she learned of her savior's death. He had saved her, been a father to her, and now he was _dead_.

By the end of the council, they declared Robb as their King of Winter, the King in the North.

It shocked her that these men would encourage a boy at the cusp of manhood, the very same one they were reluctant to follow into battle because of his age, to become their king.

In the midst of the chanting, someone brought in flagons of wine and ale, and music began to play in the Great Hall. Dany accepted a cup of wine and when she brought it to her mouth, she tasted sour red. It brought a rueful smile to her lips. Lady Stark had long disappeared from the Great Hall, presumably to see her father. Jon was missing, but thankfully Robb found her.

"Can I talk to you?" he asked, voice quiet yet the urgency in it worried her. They were in the corner of the Great Hall when he spoke again. "This is madness, Dany."

"They see you fit to be king," Dany remarked, "and I would rather burn Westeros than see another Baratheon on the throne."

"Then _you_ take it."

"Pardon?"

"You are Aerys's daughter, are you not? You have the right to the Iron Throne."

Dany glanced around, hoping no one was listening to their conversation. "Are _you_ mad, Robb? Do you truly think your men would fight for a Targaryen? A _woman_ at that?"

"If I said so," Robb insisted. "Almost killing Jaime Lannister impressed the men, especially the Greatjon. They've never seen a woman do that—"

"Dacey Mormont."

"—A _gentle_ woman."

"If you hadn't crushed the Lannisters, we all would have perished. You're a legend among men, Robb. That's the reason why your bannermen crowned you as their king," Dany pointed out.

"You have a better claim to the throne than any of us. Show them why they call you Daenerys Stormborn and you will be crowned Queen of the Seven Kingdoms." Robb's expression became pained. "I never wanted this. I… I just wanted to save Father and my sisters, and I couldn't even do _that_. What makes anyone think I can rule the realm?"

The helplessness clouding him compelled Dany to pull him into her arms. He returned her embrace, pulling her in so tightly it almost hurt. Robb remembered the lords around them and stepped back.

"You still have your sisters," she reminded him. She touched his broad shoulder and squeezed him. "Do not doubt yourself."

They finished drinking their wine together before separating, Robb getting pulled into the throng of northern lords while Dany continued searching for Jon. She wanted to kick herself when she remembered the godswood, and headed there.

She found Jon beneath the green canopy leaves, surrounded by tall redwoods and great old elms, kneeling before the heart tree, a slender weirwood with a face less fierce than the one in Winterfell. Dany froze, her heart aching when she heard him crying. It was a strange sight, seeing the normally reserved Jon cry so openly.

"Jon," she whispered, and his cries didn't stop, like he hadn't heard her. "Jon..."

Dany stood between him and the heart tree, and he didn't hesitate to wrap his arms around her middle, his cries muffled in her gown. She wove her fingers through his hair, trying to soothe him then decided to join him on the ground, wrapping her arms around him. He buried his face in her neck, whimpering. His sobbing almost made Dany cry again, but she kept quiet. It would do no good if she started weeping with him.

"I couldn't… I should've…" Jon could barely speak. His body trembled in her arms.

"The Lannisters will pay," Dany vowed. "We'll avenge him, Jon. I swear to it."

The promise seemed to quiet Jon's sobbing. She rubbed his back, murmuring soft words in High Valyrian. Daenerys would seek vengeance in her own Targaryen way.


	9. Chapter IX

**IX.**

Everything felt sore.

The back of her legs where Yoren lashed her with a branch felt sore. Her chest was sore, though the sour old man hadn't lashed her there. It was the sound of her father's head getting lopped off by Ilyn Payne, remembering that her sister was alone with Joffrey in King's Landing, and the distance between her and the rest of her family that made the ache in her chest more painful.

"You alright?" asked the Bull, when she and Yoren returned to the road. Yoren had lashed her for pummeling Hot Pie with her wooden sword. He deserved it for accusing her of stealing Needle.

"Why do you care?" Arya grumbled. The back of her legs throbbed so bad she doubted she could sit on her donkey.

He didn't answer nor tried talking to her until nightfall when they made for camp. She lowered herself gingerly onto the thin blanket she spread across the hard ground, wincing when she touched the cloth. The Bull sat on his own blanket near her, polishing the horned helm he never wore.

"How come you never wear that?" she suddenly asked. He looked up from his helm. Strands of thick black hair fell across his deep blue eyes.

"Because I'm not in battle," the Bull answered. He motioned to Needle laid beside her. "Is it true? Did you steal that?"

" _No_ ," she said vehemently. "My brother gave it to me."

"Your brother is a blacksmith?"

"No. He... he's a squire and had his lord's blacksmith make it for me."

The lie came easy and the Bull seemed to buy it. He nodded, then startled her when he asked, "Can I see it?"

Arya wanted to say no, but the Bull never harmed her before. He even helped her out when Hot Pie tried to hurt her. The Bull was stronger and bigger than her own brothers. She needed someone like that around until she made it back to Winterfell.

Hesitantly, she handed him Needle.

His eyes were focused as he inspected the steel. _He must have been an apprentice_ , thought Arya, watching how he handled her sword delicately. The Bull glanced up at her to say something, but faltered.

"What is it?" Arya asked, frowning.

"Look up," he told her. She did and widened her eyes when she caught sight of the great red comet soaring through the dark sky. "Looks kind of like a sword, like the blade is still red hot from the forge."

She couldn't see a sword, so she squinted until she saw it. As she gazed about it, Arya saw it wasn't just a sword, but her father's greatsword and the red was his blood. It was frightening and splendid all at once. Tears pricked her eyes and she rubbed them away angrily. Crying would only make the Bull ask her more questions she wasn't ready to answer.

"What should we call it?" the Bull asked.

"Ice," tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop herself.

"Ice?" he repeated, frowning. "That doesn't make any sense."

" _You_ don't make any sense," Arya snapped, crossing her arms. "What would you call it then?"

"The Red Sword," the Bull named it. He glanced at her. "What do you think of that?"

"It's stupid," Arya huffed out. She'd rather lie than admit the name was good.

"You're the stupid one for calling it _Ice_ ," he grumbled. He laid down on his back and continued staring up at the sky. Arya would have mimicked his movements, but she was still transfixed by the blazing comet.

 _Does Jon see a sword too?_ She wondered, gazing about the comet. _Does he see Father's sword and his blood staining it?_

Only her dreams could answer her.

* * *

The five idiots were discussing ways to stop the rebels from reaching King's Landing. Cersei hadn't anticipated a war against the Starks or Baratheons, but she supposed it was just another obstacle in her way from obtaining the Iron Throne. She waited years for this opportunity to arise and she wouldn't let any more men take that chance from her. The day Robert died could have not come sooner, but the one person she would have celebrated his death with had foolishly got himself captured by a mere boy.

Cersei narrowed her eyes in disbelief when the doors opened abruptly and a little man entered the council room. "What are _you_ doing here?" she demanded. How was he _alive?_

"Delivering a letter from our lord father." He waddled over to them and placed a rolled parchment on the table.

The eunuch took the letter and studied it. Cersei snatched it out of his powdered hands. She broke the wax and unrolled the parchment. Her throat constricted as she read the letter. This couldn't be true. Her lord father named Tyrion as the Hand of the King until he himself could join them.

Her fingers tightened around the parchment. She ignored the idiots as she read the letter again. Tyrion brought a few hundred men back with him. Cersei was disappointed to learn it was Tyrion's men chiefly. She wanted to scream. How could her father not be concerned enough to send an army to protect them?

When Tyrion wouldn't leave, Cersei sighed and dismissed everyone except him.

"Has father lost his senses? Or did you forge this letter?" she questioned, her irritation mounting. "I wanted him to come himself. I am Joffrey's regent, and I sent him a royal _command._ "

"And he ignored you," Tyrion said. She snapped her head up at his words. "He has quite a large army, he can do that."

"If I name this letter a forgery and tell them to throw you in a dungeon, no one will ignore _that_ ," Cersei warned, crushing the letter.

"No one," Tyrion agreed, much too amicable for her liking. "Least of all our father. The one with the army. But why should you want to throw me into a dungeon, sweet sister, when I've come all this long way to help you?"

 _Because I hate you, you monstrous imp_ , thought Cersei. It always disgusted her to see _him_ alive instead of their mother.

"I don't require your help. It was our father's presence that I commanded."

"Yes, but it's Jaime you want."

Jaime. The greatest knight in the entire realm. The most beautiful man she'd ever laid eyes on. Her other half. He should have been by her side instead of chained up in the dungeons of Riverrun.

Cersei swallowed thickly. "Jaime—"

"—is my brother no less than yours," Tyrion interrupted. "Give me your support and I promise you, we will have Jaime freed and returned to us unharmed."

"How?" Cersei demanded. "The Stark boy and his mother are not like to forget that we beheaded Lord Eddard, and Daenerys Targaryen travels with them, does she not? She'll _kill_ him."

"The girl is as dainty as a bloom. I doubt she can kill our Jaime, sister."

"I wasn't suggesting she kill him _herself_ , you imbecile. She holds much influence with the Stark boy. She could convince him to kill Jaime several different ways if she felt like it."

He snorted. "'Convince him'? Robb Stark is a cautious young man. He wouldn't risk losing his sister for a sample of Daenerys Targaryen."

She scowled. "Don't be a fool, Tyrion. Young bucks like Robb Stark are at their weakest after a tumble with a pretty maid. And you forget Jaime's history with Targaryens. Daenerys would love nothing more than to avenge her father."

"Robb Stark wouldn't allow it," Tyrion immediately said.

 _Impudent cretin_ , she thought. How could he not see the danger their brother was in? Jaime injured Eddard Stark and murdered Aerys II Targaryen. Now he was in the hands of their children, one with a lineage prone to madness. He was safer with a sword in his hand than none at all.

"Do you have any word on Jorah Mormont?"

"The last Robert heard from him was that he found Viserys Targaryen in Norvos. Lord Eddard _somehow_ convinced him not to go through with the assassination," Cersei answered. She frowned at the sudden change in subjects. "What of him?"

Tyrion smiled. "I believe we found a way to keep Jaime alive until we rescue him."

* * *

The sound of steel clashing against steel rang in Jon's ears in the yard of Riverrun. He cursed under his breath when Robb dodged a slash to his head. Robb moved quick and shouldered him to the ground. Before he had a chance to gloat, Jon hooked his leg between Robb's and brought him down with him. Neither tried to stand, both too exhausted to move.

"... Draw?" asked Jon after a moment.

"Draw," agreed Robb.

They helped each other off the ground, and Jon took off his helm. Sweat trickle down his temple to the column of his throat. He hadn't fought like that since the Whispering Wood. Robb requested his squire Olyvar Frey fetch them some water, the coldest he could find. While he was gone, Jon and Robb removed their armor in the shade. They waited for Olyvar near the shaded high stone wall.

Since Robb was crowned as King in the North and the Trident, things were idle in Riverrun and no one seemed to enjoy it. One glance around the Great Hall during the feasts and it was plain for anyone to see that everyone was restless—especially the northern lords. They longed for Lannister blood and Jon could not blame them.

Robb himself was restless. He put on a brave, stoic face when in company of others, but Jon could see through it. After all, Robb was his cousin. It was only after Robb announced his terms to Cleos Frey in the Great Hall that Jon could tell Robb was teetering over the edge. The terms he offered lacked the bloodshed everyone desired. Lord Rickard Karstark had even stormed out of the Great Hall when he learned Ser Jaime Lannister would remain unharmed.

To ease his cousin's nerves, Jon suggested they spar in the yard. "Like old times," he said, forcing a smile. The relief Robb expressed was tangible. It would distract him from the enemies surrounding them and he was certain none of Robb's bannermen would train properly with their king.

Olyvar returned with a pitcher of water. They drank in silence, both gulping down their ice cold water. Robb wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his bare hand. Neither rushed to speak, both breathing heavily through their noses.

"Mother won't go to the Twins," Robb said after a while. "She keeps treating me like I'm a child. I'm nearly a man grown. She has no right to…" He trailed off, burying his face in his hand. "And she distrusts Theon. She thinks I—"

"You're truly sending Greyjoy to Pyke?" Jon asked.

"Who better to treat with Balon Greyjoy than his own son?"

" _Anyone_ else, Robb. What makes you believe he will fight for our side once he's released from your charge?"

"He's my friend," Robb answered stubbornly. "Mother and Father have been nothing but courteous to him. There is no reason for him to betray us. If the Lannisters won't make peace, I'll have need of Lord Greyjoy's longships."

"He may be your friend, but you are not his family. Theon was your father's ward. He owes us nothing."

"You're only saying that because you're jealous," Robb accused.

Jon scoffed. "I was already questioning your judgement when you decided to send Greyjoy to Pyke, but now you think I'm _jealous_ of the smiling prick? Someone should take back that new crown of yours."

In the next instance, Jon was on the ground spitting out blood. It took him a minute to register the punch and he couldn't believe it. Disbelief was soon supplanted with rage. How could Robb defend _him?_ Rising to his feet, Jon ignored the ache in his cheek and drove his fist into Robb's stomach.

"Your Grace," exclaimed Olyvar, frightened.

Robb waved him off. " _No one_ interfere," he commanded. "This is how it's going to be then?" he asked Jon. When Jon said nothing, Robb lunged at him.

They tumbled to the ground, elbows and knees tangled together as they tried to strike one another. Robb was above him, punching him across the face. His teeth rattled from the impact. Their master-at-arms decided long ago that Jon was the better of the two when it came to the sword, but without the sword Robb was stronger. Desperate to escape another hit, Jon struck Robb's nose with his head. Ignoring the dizziness in his head, Jon slammed his knee into Robb's chest. He kicked Robb off him and Robb managed to kick him in the leg.

"I'm sending Theon," rasped Robb, struggling to stand. He fell back on the ground, cradling his nose.

"Go ahead, _Your Grace_ ," snapped Jon, slowly sitting up. "But when the Greyjoys betray you, do not ask anyone how that happened."

"Fuck you, Snow," Robb snarled, and his expression was so rife with scorn it made Jon wince.

It wasn't until Robb left the yard did Jon will himself to stand. Black stars scattered his vision the more he moved. The little energy left in him was used to climb the stairs and stumble into his room where Ghost waited. Jon collapsed onto his bed, ignoring the sweat, blood, and dirt streaking his skin. Sleep took him, but it only lasted for a moment.

Someone was shaking him. Jon groaned into his pillow when the shaking wouldn't stop. When he opened his eyes, Dany was hovering above him. Her hair was a waterfall of silver gleaming faintly against the sunlight. She touched the side of his head, fingers curling in his hair as she wiped his face with a damp cloth.

"You look awful," Dany remarked, when she finished cleaning him.

Jon felt awful. His body was still throbbing with pain from earlier. His insides tightened as he recalled the brutal hit he delivered to Robb's nose and chest. Robb must have looked worse.

"How is he?" he asked. His voice sounded harsh.

"You broke his _nose_ , Jon," she told him, tilting his head. "Nothing seems broken for you, but I'm not a maester."

"Nothing feels broken," he mumbled, wincing under her feathery touch. "You spoke to Robb?"

"He says you don't agree with his choice to send Theon to Pyke," Dany answered, releasing him. "That doesn't mean you should break his nose."

"Did Robb tell you he punched me first?" Jon questioned, without rancor. The embers in his rage from earlier had died since he reached his room.

"He mentioned it," she said, frowning. "It will do little good for us to quarrel. We have to focus on defeating the Lannisters."

He sat up and blinked repeatedly when the room spun. "I know this, Dany," Jon started, when his vision returned to him. "But trusting Theon to return to his home and convince his father to join us is foolish. You know about the Greyjoy Rebellion. What makes anyone think that Lord Balon would hesitate to launch an attack now that his son has returned to him?"

"It's a risk, but not every plan ends perfectly," Dany admitted, staring at him. It almost made him look away. She still made him nervous, even after all the times they've kissed. "You should see Maester Vyman."

"Is my face not comely enough for you?" Jon asked, pretending to be hurt. He smiled when she giggled.

"No, it's comely enough," she murmured, moving closer until their chests touched. Jon wrapped one arm around her waist to pull her down with him. He brushed her hair behind her ear with his other hand. Her lips were so full and pink and _right there_.

Threading his fingers deeper into her hair, he brought her face closer until their noses bumped into one another. They both laughed before Dany kissed him. His split lip made it painful to kiss, but Jon would have continued if Dany hadn't noticed him wincing each time their lips brushed together. She ducked her head to kiss the underside of his jaw, right on a bruise. Jon groaned when she nuzzled her nose into his neck, breathing fire on his skin. He rolled them over on their side.

She murmured something, the words vibrating against his skin. "Hmm?" Jon tugged at her hair. "What is it?" he asked.

"I think I love you," Daenerys told him, and the emotion behind those words weighed heavy in the room.

 _Why?_ Jon nearly blurted out, but kept quiet. He knew her long enough to figure if she were merely toying with him. Even if she lied, he could see the truth in her eyes. He shifted a little to look at her face. She was scared. Why was she scared? Was she afraid of what he would say? Her fear only relieved him of his own.

"And I love you," Jon said. He dusted her face with kisses, repeating those words. When he reached her lips, he could feel her smile. "You don't know how long I've waited to hear that."

He held her for a long time afterwards, those words echoing throughout the room.

* * *

It was the sunlight pouring through the half opened shutters of her window that woke Daenerys.

She stretched her stiff limbs before rolling over to the dragon's egg beside her. It was the black one alive with ripples of scarlet. She dragged her fingers over the surface of the shell, tracing its scales. Dany imagined a baby deep within it, twisting at her touch. Many would dismiss her thought as a childish dream, but she knew better… and so did Rhaegar.

According to her great-great uncle Aemon, Rhaegar believed in a prophecy. " _When the red star bleeds and the darkness gathers, the prince that was promised shall be born amidst salt and smoke_ ," recited the ancient maester. This prince would be born from the line of Aerys and Rhaella, so naturally her great-great uncle thought it was Rhaegar.

"Rhaegar I thought... the smoke was from the fire that devoured Summerhall on the day of his birth, the salt from the tears shed for those who died," he told her.

"But it wasn't him," Dany surmised.

"No. He was convinced it was his son who fulfilled the prophecy. There had been a comet seen above King's Landing on the night Aegon was conceived, and Rhaegar was certain the bleeding star had to be a comet." Dany had never seen such weariness on a person.

"What is this prince promised to do?" she asked him.

"Deliver the world from darkness."

Dany tightened her arms around her dragon's egg, shuddering from the memory. That conversation haunted her for days afterwards. Would the world be consumed in darkness now that Rhaegar and his son were dead? What if this prince was not Aegon, but Aegon's child? Had there been no war, Dany might have married him if Rhaegar kept the Targaryen tradition.

"Rhaegar believed in the prophecy, but he also believed his son needed the help of two more. _The dragon has three heads_ were his words," Aemon continued.

"Like Aegon and his sisters."

Her great-great uncle had smiled at that. "Yes, my child. He believed Rhaenys and Aegon were their forebears reborn. He needed a Visenya, but Elia was too frail to carry another child. Your brother was determined to have a third dragon."

She heard about the Tourney at Harrenhal, how Rhaegar crowned Lyanna Stark as his queen of love and beauty. The next year he kidnapped her, and that led to Brandon Stark's death and Robert Baratheon going to war for her. It horrified her to think that Rhaegar kidnapped Lyanna for the sake of this prophecy. At times like this, she missed Viserys the most.

Rhaegar purchased these dragon's eggs as weapons for his promised prince. If Dany could hatch them, then perhaps she…

 _Foolish,_ thought Dany. Aemon said prince, not _princess_. She was not the one to rescue the world from darkness.

An hour later, Dany managed to pull herself out of bed. She moved lazily across the room, searching for a clean gown to wear. Her hand lingered over a dark blue one, the same one she encountered Roose Bolton in. Dany flung it across the room. She should burn that tainted gown.

Roose Bolton finally returned from the Green Fork. He and his troops were recovering, but within the next few days, he and the rest of Robb's army would march to the westerlands. This march meant a long farewell to Jon and Robb. Since their fight, Jon and Robb had yet to apologize, let alone speak to one another. It worried her. This plan of Robb's to attack the westerlands was more dangerous than their battle in the Whispering Wood. They could end up like Lord Karstark's sons. To die without apologizing for a stupid argument over _Theon_ sounded harrowing.

The halls of Riverrun were bustling with men readying themselves for the march. Dany greeted the ones she recognized. Since the battle in the Whispering Wood, everyone seemed to like her. It was strange after being treated with contempt whenever the lords bannermen would visit Winterfell, but it was not unpleasant.

Olyvar Frey nearly toppled her over as she neared Robb's solar.

"My lady! I-my apologies!" He bowed his head, but Dany smiled and patted his shoulder.

"It's alright, Olyvar," she said, letting go of him. "Where are you off to in such a hurry?"

"The rookery, my lady," he answered, looking up with a blush. "I'm sending a letter to my sister. I'm trying to ease her concerns about Perwyn and me."

"Perwyn went with Lady Stark to treat with Renly, didn't he?"

"Yes, and hopefully nothing wrong goes there, but I'm going to battle with His Grace. She fears for my safety."

"Your sister sounds kind." Dany remembered Robb's nameless Frey bride. "Do you think she and Robb would make a good match?"

"I don't know, my lady," Olyvar admitted, "but Roslin has a gentle nature and a talent for music."

Roslin sounded like a good balance for Robb. Dany nodded and let Olyvar continue on his way. She didn't bother knocking as she entered Robb's solar. Robb was sitting at his desk, reading a letter. The bruises marring his face were fading, but his nose was still swollen from the punch Jon gave him. He didn't look up until Dany sat on the edge of his desk.

"Is that new?" she asked, gesturing to the letter in his hand.

"No. It's the one from Sansa," Robb answered, palming his chin. "I'm afraid for her."

"As long as we have the Kingslayer, she and Arya won't be killed," Dany assured him.

"I know, but… they can harm them without killing them."

It alarmed her how heavy and dejected his voice sounded. She reached over and placed her hand over his. Robb raised his head and gave her an exhausted smile. Squeezing his hand one last time, she let go and put her palm flat against his forehead as she ruffled his hair.

"Once you ravage the Westerlands, the Lannisters will beg for mercy," she said, pulling her hand away. "All will go well if you and Jon work together."

Robb rolled his eyes. "Lords already undermine my kingship. I don't need Jon doing it." He leaned back, crossing his arms. "You know he doesn't like Theon."

"His concerns are valid," Dany said defensively. "Theon is your friend and you care for him. I'm certain he cares for you, but Jon fears for the possibility of betrayal. He worries about you and your sisters."

He regarded her for a moment. "Are you done?" he asked coldly.

Aggravating him would lead to something ugly and Dany refused to get upset with him, so she slid off his desk. "That's it, Your Grace," she answered, and left him alone.

The rest of the day was spent in the library. Dany read any books Riverrun had on Targaryens, from oldest to present. The oldest text was on the burning of Harrenhal. Aegon the Conqueror used his dragon to end the Hoare line. Aegon rode Balerion, the Black Dread. It was said that Balerion's fire was as black as his scales, his wings so vast that whole towns were swallowed up in their shadow when he passed overhead. Dany thought of her black dragon's egg. If it hatched, would it grow as big as Balerion?

That night, Dany dreamt of Winterfell. The ancient castle was burnt to the ground, smoke drifting upwards into the grey sky. She looked behind her. Something was approaching her, she realized with a start of fear. It crept towards her, dragging itself through the snow. She couldn't move. Terror filled her as it came closer. It almost looked like a _man_ flayed of his flesh. Dany saw its eyes, and behind those pale eyes were nothing.

When she woke from her nightmare, cold sweat beaded her skin. Dany couldn't sleep again. She didn't want to be alone. Climbing out of her bed, Dany clothed herself in a robe and slippers before heading to Jon's bedchambers.

Jon was asleep again when she found him. Ghost was resting on the other side of the room. Dany went over to him and played with him for a bit before going to Jon. Carefully, she climbed over him to lay on his left side. She paused when Jon stirred. When he didn't wake, Dany settled beside him.

His face was different when asleep; untroubled and vulnerable. Like Robb, his bruises were fading, but there was a tiny scar on the edge of his jaw. She reached up to trace patterns over the rise and fall of his chest. It was only when she leaned up to kiss his scarred jaw that Jon stirred awake. His eyes opened, half-lidded and confused, but then he gave her a sleepy smile, and Dany felt a pulse between her legs.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, voice deep and thick with sleep. The sound of it made her shiver.

"Does it matter?" she questioned. She buried her face in his shoulder. "Let's sleep."

Sleep was already taking Jon. He moved languidly to his side, throwing his arm around her. "You're warm," he mumbled. His presence made it easier for Dany to sleep.

Dany woke to Jon stroking her back. She yawned as she stretched. Her yawn shifted into a shriek when Jon started to tickle her. She twisted away, laughing. Jon pulled her back to tickle her sides and underarms, but she continued to thrash against him. The bedframe groaned in response to them rolling around laughing and tickling one another.

He managed to keep her still by pinning her down. Their fingers laced together, his skin calloused against her own. She could feel his cock, but that wasn't what made her heart race. It was his grin that lit up his dark eyes. Sometimes, Dany forgot his eyes were grey. It seemed like a long time since she saw his smile. Since the news of Ned Stark's death reached them, his face was always grim.

"You look nice when you smile," Dany blurted out.

"Do I?" he asked, still grinning.

"You should smile more often," she insisted.

His grin faded into a small, tender smile. He leaned down to press a soft kiss to her forehead then the tip of her nose. Dany giggled and tilted her head to kiss his mouth. She untangled their fingers and twined her arms around his shoulders, bringing him down onto her. Dany explored his mouth with her tongue. She clutched onto him, and let out a breathless moan when he groaned into her mouth, the vibrations coursing through her body and setting her veins afire.

She felt lightheaded, as if she were falling off the edge of an endless cliff. His touch made her so weak.

"Jon," she breathed, when he dragged his lips from hers. His tongue locked on a pulse, sucking at it until she was spreading her legs and allowing him to settle between them.

When she moaned, Jon tore himself off her, breathing heavily.

"You're more chaste than the Maiden herself, Jon," Dany said, sitting up.

"The Maiden doesn't have such filthy thoughts," Jon grumbled, averting his eyes.

"Oh? Would you like to share?" she asked curiously.

The scandalized look he had made her laugh.

"I'm going to call you Jon the Maid from now on," she decided, giggling.

"Don't," Jon protested.

"I will," Dany said, leaning towards him with a teasing smile. "Jon the Maid, as green as spring."

"You are as much of a maid as I am," he retorted, leaning away from her.

He wasn't wrong. The most she and Jon had done touched each other in ways that would appall Septa Mordane. Perhaps it wouldn't even surprise Septa Mordane that Dany would venture in carnal activities. The old woman rarely spoke of what went on in the bedchamber, only that it was a woman's duty to produce as many children for her husband as she could. Dany only realized it could be fun once she overheard one of Theon's exploits.

"Do you want to change that?" she asked.

Jon looked up, startled. She tensed as he searched her eyes for what seemed like ages. Dany should have grown used to his intense gaze, but it still made her heart flutter and her knees tremble.

Dany never imagined anyone else. It was always and only Jon. When she told him this, the look on his face was enough to devastate her.

"Really?" he finally said, incredulous.

"Why not?" she asked, sounding more flippant than she felt. "Are you still saying no?"

"No," Jon answered. The lump in his throat throbbed. "I… I love you."

Those words reverberated through her soul, the warmth of it unfurling across her heart. It stayed with her as she gave him her maidenhead and lingered as she watched them march towards the westerlands the next morning.

* * *

Catelyn would have remained in Riverrun if her son hadn't requested her to treat with Renly Baratheon. He threatened to send the Greatjon in her stead, and Catelyn couldn't refuse for the sake of finding peace.

Daenerys had offered her council before she left. "If Renly doesn't listen, speak to his wife," she told Catelyn. "She and Robb have history." What kind of history Robb had with Margaery Tyrell concerned her, but she did not dwell on it. She only hoped it ended pleasantly enough for Margaery not to think of her son with disdain.

Renly's outriders swooped down on them, twenty men mailed and mounted, led by a grizzled greybeard of a knight with blue jays on his surcoat.

"My lady," he called, when he saw her banners. "I am Ser Colen of Greenpools, as it pleases you. These are dangerous lands you cross."

She explained the situation to Ser Colen. He was courteous enough to escort her and her men to Renly's camp near Bitterbridge. They saw the smoke of the camp's fires before they even reached, and heard the sounds drifting across the rolling plain.

There were shouts, horses screaming, and the clash of steel. Cheers were heard. She, twenty of Robb's best men, and five lordlings had been riding up a gentle slope toward a line of brightly colored pavilions on the height. As they passed between them, the press of men grew thicker, the sounds louder. Below, beneath the stone-and-timber battlements of a small castle, a melee was in progress.

The press in front of them made further progress difficult. "Lady Stark," Ser Colen said, "if your men would be so good to wait here, I'll present you to the king."

"As you say." She raised her voice to give the command. Ser Colen walked his horse slowly through the throngs, with Catelyn riding in his wake.

A roar went up from the crowd as a helmetless red-bearded man with a griffin on his shield went down before a big knight in blue armor. It was absurd. Robb was off battling the true enemy while Renly played at king.

Catelyn recognized the southron lords in the gallery. Her father had often treated with them, and most had been guests at Riverrun. In the midst of them was Robert's ghost. Renly was as handsome as Robert once was, with his broad shoulders, straight hair the color of coal, and deep blue eyes. Even his smile had the same easiness Robert had. The slender circlet around his brows was exquisite. Fashioned out of soft gold, a ring of roses was designed on the crown. At the front lifted a stag's head of dark green jade, adorned with golden eyes and golden antlers.

His young queen shared the high seat with him. Margaery, daughter to Lord Mace Tyrell, was the reason Renly obtained such an immense army. Catelyn could understand why Robb would be infatuated. She was beautiful, with doe's soft eyes the color of cinnamon and unbounded brown hair that tumbled over her shoulders and down her back in loose ringlets. When she smiled, the dimples in her cheeks were visible.

" _Loras_!" she heard Renly call. " _Loras_! _Highgarden_!" The queen clapped her hands in excitement.

They watched the end of the tourney, with the Knight of Flowers getting unhorsed by the big blue knight. Few people shouted " _Tarth_!" and strangely enough, they shouted " _A Beauty_! _A Beauty_!" but the rest were silent.

"Ser Colen," Catelyn said to her escort, "who is this man, and why do they mislike him so?"

Ser Colen frowned. "Because he is no man. That's Brienne of Tarth, daughter to Lord Selwyn the Evenstar."

" _Daughter_?" Catelyn was horrified.

"Brienne the Beauty, they name her... though not to her face, lest they be called upon to defend those words with their bodies."

King Renly declared the Lady Brienne of Tarth the victor of the great melee at Bitterbridge, last mounted of one hundred sixteen knights. "As champion, you may ask of me any favor that you desire. If it lies in my power, it is yours."

"Your Grace," Brienne answered, "I ask the honor of a place among your Rainbow Guard. I would be one of your seven, and pledge my life to yours, to go where you go, ride at your side, and keep you safe from all hurt and harm."

"Done," he said. "Rise, and remove your helm."

She did, and Catelyn understood Ser Colen's words. They called her Beauty to mock her. Catelyn's heart ached with pity. Her features were too broad and coarse, her teeth crooked, her mouth too wide, and her lips so plump they seemed swollen. Freckles scattered across her cheeks and brow, and her nose had been broken more than once. Not even her eyes could help Brienne. Her blue eyes were large and astonishingly beautiful; guileless like Sansa's.

Yet her eyes did not need to. It was her smile when Renly cut away her torn cloak and fastened a rainbow in its place that eclipsed her looks.

"Your Grace!" Ser Colen of Greenpools swung down off his horse to approach the gallery. "I beg your leave." He went to one knee. "I have the honor to bring you Lady Catelyn Stark, sent as an envoy by her son Robb, Lord of Winterfell."

"Lord of Winterfell and King in the North, ser," Catelyn corrected. She dismounted and moved to Ser Colen's side.

King Renly looked surprised. "Lady Catelyn? We are most pleased." He turned to his queen. "Margaery my sweet, this is the Lady Catelyn Stark of Winterfell."

"My family and I attended your brother's tourney," Margaery told her. "You are most welcome here, Lady Stark. I am sorry for your loss."

"You are kind," Catelyn said, hoping her regret wasn't heard. If only Robb had told them of his tryst with Margaery, then perhaps the wealth and power of Highgarden could have made all the difference in the war.

"My lady, I swear to you, I will see that the Lannisters answer for your husband's murder," Renly declared. "When I take King's Landing, I'll send you Cersei's head."

 _And will that bring my Ned back to me?_ She thought. "It will be enough to know that justice has been done, my lord."

" _Your Grace_ ," corrected Brienne the Blue sharply. "And you should kneel when you approach the king."

"The distance between a lord and a grace is a small one, my lady," Catelyn started. "Lord Renly wears a crown, as does my son. If you wish, we may stand here in the mud and debate what honors and titles are rightly due to each other, but it strikes me that we have more pressing matters to consider."

The youngest Baratheon laughed. "Well said, my lady. There will be time enough for _graces_ when these wars are done. Tell me, when does your son mean to march against Harrenhal?"

Until she knew whether Renly was friend or foe, Catelyn wasn't eager to share her son's dispositions. "I don't busy myself with my son's war councils, my lord."

"So long as you leave a few Lannisters for me, I'll not complain. What has he done with the Kingslayer?"

"Jaime Lannister is held prisoner at Riverrun." He could be dead by now for all Catelyn knew. She feared with no guidance Daenerys would take matters into her own hands.

There was a collection of murmurs from the gallery, a mixture of bemusement and scorn. Renly offered Catelyn his pavilion to freshen up, and an invitation to his table for the farewell feast hosted by Lord Caswell.

The pavilion was larger than the common rooms of many inns and furnished with every comfort. As she wandered around, Ser Perwyn Frey announced that Queen Margaery was waiting for her. The girl's smile was shy and sweet when Catelyn went to meet her.

"I hope everything is to your liking, my lady," she said, all soft courtesy.

"I can scarcely imagine what I might need," Catelyn admitted, glancing around.

"Renly cares for comfort above anything else." Margaery laughed. "If there's anything else, you only have to ask, my lady."

"Yes. We have much to speak of."

Margaery blinked, but smiled politely and followed Catelyn to sit at the nearest table. She declined the wine Margaery offered.

"I'm told you are acquainted with my son."

The girl's hands stiffened around her own cup, yet her voice was gentle as she spoke. "We met at the tourney and shared a dance," she answered. "We do not know each other that well, my lady."

"But you know him well enough to understand that he doesn't care for the throne?" Catelyn asked. "He only wishes to save his sisters."

"As most brothers would in his position," Margaery agreed. "I cannot imagine the lengths my own brothers would go for me."

"Tell me, would Renly agree to an alliance with my son?"

Margaery hesitated. "If Robb bent the knee then perhaps."

 _His lords wouldn't allow it_ , thought Catelyn.

"That's too bad," Margaery murmured, when Catelyn told her so. "I'd hate to see Robb fail."

It was too late for Robb to marry Margaery, but there was still time for a Stark to wed a Tyrell.

* * *

The brazier was lit, with gouts of fire whirling the more she stoked its flames. The room was warm, but Melisandre's skin was cold to the touch. She stared deep within the flames for a message from R'hllor.

Her king was growing impatient. He needed answers and wouldn't hesitate to dispose of Melisandre if she failed to give them. Despite how often he threatened her, Stannis would never discard her. He needed her. He looked to her for the final word before every decision.

 _R'hllor, show me a glimpse of the enemies to come_ , prayed Melisandre.

He heard her. Her god heard her.

In the flames, Melisandre saw a girl. Before her was a dragon staring back at her with eyes like molten magma. Its jaw unhinged and a silent roar erupted, flames blazing towards the girl. The girl opened her arms, embracing the fire, and Melisandre widened her eyes when the girl did not turn to ashes and bones. When the flames ended, the girl stood naked and alive.

The images finally faded, and Melisandre found herself trembling.

Stannis returned hours later, disgruntled and in no mood for nonsense. "Tell me your red god has given you something," he said, sitting down at the table with her.

"I prayed for a sight of the enemies to come," Melisandre told him.

"Did you see Renly?"

"No." _He shall be eliminated nonetheless_ , thought Melisandre. "I saw a girl. She stood before a dragon and survived its flames."

Silence followed her words. It wasn't often she could shock Stannis into silence. "There are no dragons left in the world," he finally said, his voice gruff.

"You are wrong, my king," she said softly. "Some remain, and Robb Stark has her."

* * *

 **A/N:** Hopefully I can finish the next chapter soon. I'm pretty excited about it. Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter and will keep reading!


	10. Chapter X

**A/N:** So, it's funny how this chapter was surprisingly controversial. Hopefully everyone likes this edited version. Thanks for the love everyone!

 **X.**

Tyrion was returning to the Red Keep from the Guildhall of the Alchemists when he was informed that Cleos Frey arrived from Riverrun with a letter from Robb Stark.

His cousin was confined to a windowless guardroom in the gatehouse. Ser Cleos looked half a corpse, and Tyrion could only wonder if Jamie looked worse.

"Tyrion, you are a most welcome sight," Ser Cleos admitted.

"That's not something I hear often, cousin."

"Has Cersei come with you?"

"My sister is otherwise occupied. Is this the Stark letter?" Tyrion picked it up from the table. He dismissed the guard as he unrolled the parchment.

"I was asked to bring the offer to the Queen Regent," Ser Cleos said, as Ser Jacelyn departed the room.

"I shall." Robb had sent a map with his letter. "All in good time. Sit. Rest. You look haggard."

Ser Cleos sat down, though he still looked troubled. He mentioned the condition in the riverlands, with the river lords burning their own crops to starve Lord Tywin's army. Tyrion wondered if he should feel pleased that his father's foragers were completing their task of burning down villages. The smallfolk had done nothing to them, but this was war.

"Even with a peace banner, we were attacked twice. Lost three men and twice as many wounded." Ser Cleos was pale when he finished.

"How was Jaime when you left?" Tyrion skimmed Stark's terms. The boy did not want _too_ much. Only half the realm, the release of their captives, hostages, his father's sword, and his sisters.

"Alive," Ser Cleos answered. "So long as the boy remains idle at Riverrun, Jaime will stay alive. Tyrion, he was nearly killed outside of battle by the Targaryen girl."

Tyrion looked up from the letter, startled. "Daenerys Stormborn tried to kill Jaime? _How?"_

"I was not there, but it was after the Whispering Wood. Some say she tried to slit his throat, while others say she tried to burn him alive." Ser Cleos shifted on the bench. "I got a look of her in Riverrun. She looks half a girl. How could she hurt Jaime?"

He wondered the same thing. He remembered meeting Daenerys Targaryen in Winterfell and could not imagine her harming anyone. She was too soft, even treating _Tyrion_ with courtesy. She had been petrified of even being near Jaime. People changed, Tyrion supposed. Jaime probably didn't seem so threatening when fettered. Tyrion thought of their newest prisoner and smiled.

"She won't hurt Jaime," Tyrion told his cousin, confident. _Not if she wants our prisoners alive_ , he thought.

* * *

Within the darkness of the forest, the moon guided Arya.

Moonlight glimmered through the trees as she led her pack. They leapt over logs and left the bodies of outlaws in their wake. She felt strange, like her body was not her own. They neared a pond and Arya slowed to catch her reflection. Blood streaked the lower part of her face. Her shorn hair was long and stirred in the wind. Then, as if struck by lightning, her reflection shifted. Eyes like molten gold stared back at her. _Nymeria—?_

Suddenly, Arya flinched awake. She blinked the sleep out of her eyes and found herself staring at Gendry's sleeping face. He slept soundlessly on his back beside her, unlike Hot Pie who snored softly. He didn't scowl in his sleep, but did scrunch his nose when a lock of hair fell over his left eye. Arya reached over to push it back, but quickly withdrew her hand when Gendry began to stir.

He tilted his head to look at her, eyes half lidded and still dull with sleep. He drew his brows together. "Did something happen?" he asked, keeping his voice low.

"No." Arya lifted her head to glance around the camp. People were starting to wake up.

After surviving the Lannisters' attack in Gods Eye and roaming through the forest with Gendry, Hot Pie, Lommy, and a girl named Weasel, Arya and her group were captured by the Mountain. They were being taken to serve Lord Tywin Lannister at Harrenhal.

"It's a sin and a shame," an old man hissed, when they had made camp for the night. "When the old king was still alive, he'd not have stood for this."

"King Robert?" Arya couldn't help ask.

"King _Aerys_ , gods grace him." The old man spoke too loudly and a guard knocked his teeth out. No one spoke again afterwards.

Aerys. The Mad King. Dany's father. Arya never heard anyone speak well of the old king. No one was allowed to back in Winterfell. Her father forbade it for Dany's sake, but the older girl knew of her father's reputation. Arya never understood how Dany could walk around and not fly into a rage at the ill mention of her father, but now she did. Arya couldn't say anything if anyone called her father a traitor if she wanted to live.

 _Does Sansa know?_ Arya wondered. Out here, no one would tell her if her family lived or not. She could only hope that Sansa remained silent in King's Landing, lest she lose her head too. Arya wondered if the Lannisters were keeping her hostage or… She shoved those thoughts back.

Once they reached Harrenhal, the three of them would be separated. There was nothing Arya could do and she hated it. Even with if they hadn't taken Needle, she couldn't take on the Mountain or any of his men. Gods, Arya hated feeling useless.

"We're going to be separated," Arya whispered, swallowing back her fear. _Fear cuts deeper than swords,_ she remembered. "But I'm going to find a way out. You'll come with me, won't you? You and Hot Pie?"

"Arya…" Gendry hesitated. He didn't believe her, but she refused to let that dissuade her.

"We _can't_ stay there."

"But where else can we go?"

"My brother," Arya answered, frantic. "He's in Riverrun. Promise me, Gendry. Promise you'll come with me when I find a way out."

Gendry stared at her, his blue eyes searching hers. He was scared, but Arya would be brave for the both of them. Able Arya was what Dany called her. If she was so able, then she'd find a way for them to escape. Whatever it took, Arya would do it.

"I promise," he finally said, and his words lingered with Arya as they entered Harrenhal.

* * *

Lady Stark believed that Bran had not fallen from the First Keep, but was thrown. She went further to accuse the Kingslayer of pushing him. Dany believed her. She wouldn't put it past the Lannisters to harm children. Unfortunately, Lady Stark had long left to treat with Renly, leaving Dany to complete the task of questioning the Kingslayer.

It was an uncomfortable thing to do, but Dany would get Lady Stark her answers.

The guards looked at her strangely when she brought the Kingslayer's meal herself. Were they afraid she poisoned his meal? Dany wondered if word spread about the incident in the Whispering Wood. Perhaps Robb wanted to avoid another confrontation and made certain the guards would grant her no access.

One guard watched her carefully. "Pardons, m'lady, but Ser Edmure says no one is to see the Kingslayer without a writing from him, with his seal upon it."

" _King_ Robb has granted me access." The confidence in her voice perfected her lie, and none of the guards spoke again.

Disgust unraveled in her belly as she entered the Kingslayer's cell. His cell had more luxury than he deserved. Dany could only hope the Lannisters offered a similar kind of hospitality. She turned to look at Robb's prisoner lounging on the featherbed, and stiffened under his quizzical stare.

"Lady Daenerys," he said. "The cut you gave me didn't leave a scar. I suppose you're here to give a lasting one?"

"No." She set his meal on the table near the window. When the Kingslayer made no move, she asked, "Will you let it go untouched?"

"Such generosity from _you_ seems suspect, my lady."

"I would never poison you."

"Foolish of me to think so," he laughed. Dany stepped away from when he neared. Even with no weapons and the guards outside, she was still afraid of what he could do. "I don't plan to murder you with a spoon."

"Like I would trust you," Dany retorted, crossing her arms. His golden hair was tousled from sprawling on the bed and stubble covered his jaw. Facial hair or clean shaven, he was still more beautiful than any other man she ever met.

The Kingslayer noticed her staring. He had the nerve to smile. "I've known hate, but none such as yours. You have a… _peculiar_ way of expressing it," he noted, tasting his meal. "If you did not come here to poison me, then surely it was to have your way with me?"

Her eyes widened. " _What?"_

"If that will keep my head, why not slip out of that gown? You're young for me, I'll admit, but I can see if I'm up for it."

Dany could taste the revulsion at the back of her throat. "I could kill you for saying that."

"You won't, because you can't."

"No more games, Kingslayer," Daenerys said sharply. "There are things I must know."

"Why should I tell you anything?"

"Because I can end your life."

"You think I fear death?" That seemed to amuse him.

"You should fear the kind of death _I_ will give you."

He leaned back in his chair, chuckling. "Will you give me to the flames? That was your father's favored method."

Hearing him speak of her father infuriated her. She hid her trembling fist behind her back. The Kingslayer seemed to feed on weakness.

"How did Robb's brother Bran fall?" Dany suddenly asked. She was here for Lady Stark, not to get mocked.

Lannister paused, the question catching him off guard. He gazed upon her, his green eyes so focused on hers it made her falter. "It's a shame you killed your mother. She would have loved to see how comely you've grown."

His words slowly sunk in and for an instant, Dany could not speak. When she found her voice, she could only say unsteadily, "You're a monster."

Something shifted in his expression. His smile waned and the cruel glint in his eyes dulled. "You say that, but only because you haven't met your father."

She whirled and left, unable to bear looking at him any longer. Dany tripped as she ran down the stairs, her tears blinding her. She grabbed the railing to keep from falling. Once she was outside, Dany tried to suppress her sobs. She refused to walk through Riverrun crying.

Dany wasn't sure who was worse—him or the Usurper.

When she finally stopped crying, Dany stood and wiped her face clean of tears with the sleeves of her gown. She entered the castle and tried to avoid everyone as she headed to the godswood. It was different from the one back in Winterfell, but it was a godswood nonetheless. Dany wasn't one for prayer. The old gods weren't hers nor was she connected to the Seven, but the godswood reminded her of Jon and the Starks. It was safe there.

Dany knelt before the heart tree. She closed her eyes and prayed for everyone's safety. Sansa and Arya in King's Landing, Robb and Jon in the westerlands, and Bran and Rickon in Winterfell. When her knees began to ache, Dany shifted until she was lying on her back in the grass. Her mind drifted to Jon. She missed Jon. She missed his contemplative silence, his shy smiles, his comforting words.

Her face warmed as she remembered the morning she gave Jon her maidenhead. How she focused on him instead of the pain, how she felt him slide into where she ached. The hard muscles of his back, his shoulders, his arms. The weight of his hips on her. _Jon is in me_ , Dany had thought, pulling him down heavier on her. She never knew sharing a bed with someone could feel like that. Dany would give herself again once he returned.

Did he think of her? Dany smiled, feeling silly over the thought. It was selfish to wonder, especially with Jon off battling Lannisters, but she couldn't help it. She loved him and only wanted him to return to her alive.

" _Daenerys_ ," someone whispered.

Dany sat up at the sound of her name, but no one was around. It was just the breeze, she reasoned. The leaves stirred in the light wind, and birds chirped as they abandoned their nests. A blue flower flitted from above and landed on her lap. She picked it up and spun the stem between her thumb and forefinger. What was that game Sansa and Jeyne Poole liked to play? He loves me, he loves me not?

She tucked the flower behind her ear. Removing the petals of such a pretty flower was not worth determining if Jon loved her. Dany knew he did. He didn't even care about her father.

Who _was_ her father? Eddard Stark never told Dany of her father's deeds and forbade anyone else from doing so. That concerned her. She knew he did horrible things because there needed to be a reason why everyone called him the Mad King. Were her father's deeds so awful that Lord Stark couldn't speak of them? If Lord Stark hadn't been prepared to tell her about her father, then that left… _him_.

Most of what she knew of her family had come from books, and the rest from her great-great uncle. The Kingslayer served under her father, so he knew the truth. The idea of returning to his cell repulsed her. He would undoubtedly make getting answers difficult, yet Dany resolved to get them. She refused to run crying.

Daenerys was finished letting the Kingslayer have control over her.

* * *

Yesterday, Ser Cleos Frey returned with red cloaks from King's Landing. They pledged their peace and surrendered their weapons, so Ser Edmure granted them freedom of the castle. Dany kept her eyes on them, distrustful of their intentions.

"Ser Edmure," Dany called, when she found him. He was in the Great Hall with some of his guards, drinking mead and trading jests.

"Lady Daenerys," the knight greeted, smiling. He was growing out a beard that was a brighter shade of red than what was on his head. "You are as beautiful as the rising sun."

Dany smiled, hoping her cheeks weren't reddening. "That's kind of you to say," she murmured. "It's time we spoke to Ser Cleos."

Ser Edmure sobered up at the mention of Frey. He bid farewell to his drinking companions and offered his arm. She took it and followed him to Frey's chambers.

"Beg pardons if you are bored. Riverrun has no ladies to keep you company in times like this," Ser Edmure said.

" _You_ can keep me company. I'm hurt, ser, that you have not even attempted to inquire if I'm enjoying my stay here." She laughed at his stunned silence. "I only jest, ser. These are times of war and my comfort is the least of importance."

Ser Edmure seemed relieved at that, and more so when they reached Frey's bedchambers. Ser Cleos stood when they entered, his eyes widening at the sight of them. _He does not look like a lion_ , reflected Dany. He had the stringy brown hair, weak chin, and thin face of the Freys.

"Ser Edmure. La-lady Daenerys," he stammered.

"You brought peace terms?" Dany asked, sitting down on a bench. Ser Edmure joined her.

"I did." Ser Cleos sat opposite of them.

"Tell us," she commanded. When he was finished, she glanced at Ser Edmure. He was frowning. Despite the promise of exchanging Sansa and Arya for the Kingslayer, these terms were unreasonable.

"It's not possible. Robb will never consent to these terms," Ser Edmure said.

"Did you see Sansa and Arya Stark? Are they treated well?" Dany questioned, clutching the edge of the bench.

The knight hesitated. "I… yes, they seemed..."

The fumbling of his words and the sweat on his brow made her suspicious. If he was lying, he was doing an awful job at it. "Ser Cleos," she began sweetly, "deceiving me is most unwise. Robb is not here, so he cannot stop me if I deem you unfit to live. So tell me, did you see Sansa and Arya?"

He swallowed thickly, the lump in his throat bobbing unsteadily. "I saw Sansa at court, the day Tyrion told me his terms. She looked most beautiful—not as beautiful as _you_ , my lady. Perhaps a… a bit wan. Drawn, as it were."

"And Arya?"

"I… I'm afraid not, my lady."

Arya was more outspoken than Sansa. Cersei might have killed her for her brazenness. Dany tried to block out the thought. "Thank you, ser," she said, standing. Ser Edmure followed her out. "Any word from Robb?"

"I'm afraid not, my lady. Taking the field leaves them with no time to write," Ser Edmure told her. "Shall I escort you to your rooms?"

"The godswood," Dany corrected, accepting his arm. At least she had some information about Sansa. Arya… The girl was able. She could sustain herself until Robb found her. Nonetheless, she'd pray to the old gods to keep her safe. Praying, however, was not enough for Dany. She wanted to do more. She _had_ to do something.

If she couldn't find Arya, the least Dany could do was interrogate the Kingslayer. She finally worked up the courage to approach his cell two days later, when the sun was asleep below the sky and the Great Hall was filled with music.

 _If I look back I am lost,_ Dany thought.

Robb's prisoner sat near the window, staring out into the darkness. He turned away to watch her enter the cell. Ignoring the flutter of nerves in her belly, Dany moved toward the chair near him.

"Can't stay away, can you?" were his first words. She wanted to tear his smile off his face. He smiled at her like she was nothing more than a lamb.

"You know about Bran's fall, Kingslayer," Dany started, "the truth. Speak it _now_."

"Oh, it's _truth_ you want? Be careful, my lady. Tyrion says that people often claim to hunger for truth, but seldom like the taste when it's served up."

"Tell me," Dany insisted.

"If you share a drink with me."

There was something wrong with sharing a drink with her father's murderer. Something like this only happened in nightmares, but Dany needed the truth. She sent a servant to fetch them a flagon of wine. The Kingslayer began to hum a song as they waited. "The Bear and the Maiden Fair" from the tune of it.

"Let's play a game, my lady," the Kingslayer suggested, when the servant returned with a flagon and two cups. "For each question you ask, I shall answer _if_ you answer each question I have. Simple enough?"

"Fine." If playing his games would give her answers, Dany would do it. She swallowed a mouthful of wine, and the taste of plums burst on her tongue. "How did Robb's brother Bran fall?"

"You waste no time," he noted, "and I flung him from a window."

The nonchalance in his voice made her not understand his words. Her throat was tight as she grasped his response. He pushed a _child_ out of a tower window. How could he do such a thing with no remorse?

"Do all my kin still live?" Lannister asked, sipping his wine.

"They live," she answered softly. It was a good thing she did not wield a dagger, else the Kingslayer would be dead. "Why did you fling him from a window?"

"He was spying on us. Cersei and me."

"What were you doing with Cersei?"

"Fucking mostly, and you owe me two answers."

Dany was stunned. He and his _sister_ … She could not say anything, not when her own parents were brother and sister. That explained why Cersei's children looked nothing like the Usurper.

"You could say Cersei and I like to pretend we're Targaryens," he goaded, smirking over the rim of his cup. "Have Robert's brothers taken the field?"

"They have."

"Now there's a stingy response. Give me more than that, or you next answer will be as poor."

"Stannis is still gathering strength the last we heard," she said grudgingly. "Renly is camped beneath the walls of Bitterbridge."

"What side have the Tyrells taken?"

"Renly's. He's married to Lord Tyrell's daughter."

"Poor girl. She's likely to die a maid," the Kingslayer remarked. His eyes were cruel as he added, "Stark must be feeling lonely. Unfortunate you aren't with him to warm his bed."

 _He's my brother_ , she almost said, but then he would have twisted her words into a joke. "I thought knights were supposed to be courteous in the presence of ladies?"

He lifted his hands. "Beg pardons, my lady. It seems the longer I dwell here, the more my courtesies rust. Ask your next question."

"There was a man who tried to kill Bran when he was recovering. Did you hire them?" she questioned.

"I would have slain the boy myself before hiring anyone to do it," he answered, and Dany could hear it in his voice that he was being truthful.

"But you meant to kill him," Dany stated, "why not finish it?"

"Why bother, when the boy seemed likely to die of his own accord?" He shrugged, and took a languid swig of his wine.

"You swear you had no part in sending him?"

"On my honor as a Lannister."

"Your honor as a Lannister is worth less than shit," Dany snapped. He was vile and it frustrated her that she couldn't kill him. "Knights are sworn to protect the weak and innocent. You are nothing but a _monster_."

"You've never met your father," he said coolly.

"Tell me why you killed him," she demanded, slamming her empty cup down. "You owe me _that_ , Kingslayer."

The Kingslayer regarded her. She stared at him, her heart beating faster the longer he remained silent. He was scaring her again, just as he did at the welcoming feast in Winterfell.

"Are you certain you're ready for the truth?" he questioned. Her insides knotted in fear. Was the truth so evil that even the _Kingslayer_ didn't want to speak it?

 _If I look back I am lost_.

"I must know," she told him.

"Well, my lady, there is so much that led to me killing your father. I don't even know where to begin," he said, reclining in his seat. "Ah. I know. How about the ugly tale of Ned Stark's father and brother? I doubt he told you or his family the manner of their deaths."

"What does this have to do with—?"

"I want you to understand who your father was." Lannister took a swallow of wine, then wiped his mouth. "Brandon Stark rode to the Red Keep with a few companions to rescue his sister from your brother, shouting for Prince Rhaegar to come out and die. But Rhaegar wasn't there. Aerys sent his guards to arrest them all for plotting his son's murder."

Rhaegar. He must have already taken Lyanna Stark with him to the Tower of Joy. Dany took a shaky sip of her wine. She understood why her father would arrest them, just as she understood why Jon's father would want to slay the man who kidnapped his sister.

"There were trials… of a sort. Lord Rickard demanded trial by combat, and your father granted the request. Stark armored himself for battle, thinking to duel one of the Kingsguard. Me, perhaps. Instead they took him to the throne room and suspended him from the rafters while two of Aerys's pyromancers kindled a blaze beneath him. The king told him that _fire_ was the champion of House Targaryen."

 _No_ , she thought, clutching her cup. She had an idea where this was going, but Dany couldn't stop him. She needed to know.

"When the fire was blazing, Brandon was brought in. His hands were chained behind his back, and around his neck was a wet leathern cord attached to a device the king had brought from Tyrosh. His legs were left free, though, and his longsword was set down just beyond his reach. The pyromancers roasted Lord Rickard slowly. His cloak was caught first, and then his surcoat, and soon he wore nothing but metal and ashes…" He trailed off, watching her face. "Next he would start to cook, Aerys promised, unless Brandon could free him. Brandon tried, but the more he struggled, the tighter the cord constricted around his throat. In the end, he strangled himself."

All this time, Dany thought when Lord Stark said Brandon never returned from the south, he meant he died in battle. Not… _this_. Jon could never know. She wouldn't want him to know such a grisly tale.

"The steel of Lord Rickard's breastplate turned cherry-red before the end, and his gold melted off his spurs and dripped down into the fire. I stood at the foot of the Iron Throne in my white armor and white cloak, thinking of Cersei. After, Gerold Hightower himself took me aside and said to me, 'You swore a vow to guard the king, not to judge him.' That was the White Bull, loyal to the end and a better man than me, all agree."

Dany couldn't speak. The story was so horrible she couldn't disbelieve it. Why would the Kingslayer make it up? How could her father commit such a nauseating act? How could he kill someone so brutally? _Because he's the Mad King_ , she remembered.

"You…" Dany winced at the tremble in her voice. "You didn't kill my father to avenge Brandon Stark."

"No. The Starks do no love me as they love you." Lannister filled his cup with more wine. "I think it's odd that I am loved by one for a kindness I never did, and reviled by so many for my finest act. Why is it no one names Robert oathbreaker? He tore the realm apart, yet _I_ am the one with shit for honor."

"He will always be an oathbreaker in my eyes," Dany said. Her fingers tightened around her cup. Lannister may have taken her father, but Robert Baratheon took everything else from her.

Lannister barked out a laugh. "Yes. At least we agree on something." He continued to smile, the groggy one she recognized when someone was drunk. "He was an oathbreaker, but he didn't have a white cloak to soil… I wore my gold armor that day, but…"

She frowned. "Gold armor?"

"After Jon Connington lost the Battle of the Bells, Aerys exiled him. He had finally realized that Robert was no mere outlaw lord to be crushed at whim, but the greatest threat House Targaryen had faced since Daemon Blackfyre. The king reminded Lewyn Martell that he held Elia and sent him to take command of the ten thousand Dornishmen coming up the kingsroad. Jon Darry and Barristan Selmy rode to Stoney Sept to rally what they could of griffins' men, and Prince Rhaegar returned from the south and persuaded his father to swallow his pride and summon my father." Lannister smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes.

"But no raven returned from Casterly Rock, and that made the king even more afraid. He saw traitors everywhere, and that damn spider Varys was always there to point out any he might have missed. So His Grace commanded his alchemists to place caches of wildfire all over King's Landing. Beneath Baelor's Sept and the hovels of Flea Bottom, under stables and storehouses, at all seven gates, even in the cellars of the Red Keep itself."

Her eyes widened, and her heart beat resounded in the cell. Her ears pounded from the sound.

"No one knew. Everything was done in the utmost secrecy. Aerys's new mace-and-dagger Hand was not utterly stupid, and with Rossart, Belis, and Garigus coming and going night and day, he became suspicious. Chelsted, that was name. Lord Chelsted. I'd thought the man craven, but the day he confronted Aerys he found some courage somewhere. He did all he could to dissuade him. When everything failed, he took off his chain of office and flung it down on the floor. Aerys burnt him alive for that, and hung his chain about the neck of Rossart, his favorite pyromancer." Lannister paused to swallow his wine. He gestured for her to do the same. Dany's hand shook as she tried to mimic his actions. "And all the time, I stood by the foot of the Iron Throne in my white plate, guarding my liege and all his sweet secrets.

"My Sworn Brothers were all away, but Aerys liked to keep me close. He wanted me where Varys could watch me, so I heard it all. Rhaegar met Robert on the Trident, and you know what happened there. When the word reached court, Aerys packed your mother off to Dragonstone with Prince Viserys. Princess Elia would have gone as well, but he forbade it. Somehow, he had gotten it in his head that Prince Lewyn must have betrayed Rhaegar on the Trident. He thought he could keep Dorne loyal so long as he kept Elia and her children by his side." Lannister's voice dropped as he continued, " _The traitors want my city_ , I heard him tell Rossart, _but I'll give them naught but ashes. Let Robert be king over charred bones and cooked meat_. Your family never buries their dead, they burn them. Aerys meant to have the biggest funeral pyre of them all.

"Ned Stark was racing south with Robert's van, but my father's forces reached the city first. Pycelle convinced the king that his Warden of the West had come to defend him, so he opened the gates. It fell to me hold the Red Keep, but I knew we were lost. I sent to Aerys asking his leave to make terms. Your father came back with a royal command. _'Bring me your father's head, if you are no traitor_. _'_ When I came on Rossart, he was dressed as a common man-at-arms, hurrying to a postern gate. I slew him first. Then I slew Aerys, before he could find someone else to carry his message to the pyromancers. Days later, I hunted down the others and slew them as well."

Her father… she understood now. Why everyone had feared her in Winterfell, why Lord Stark's bannermen hadn't wanted her around. The remaining love and respect for her father shriveled and died at Lannister's words. His blood flowed through her. What if she grew mad as him? Fear coiled within her. How could Lord Stark take her in after what he did? How could Jon love her?

"Has my tale turned you speechless? Come, curse me or call me a liar. _Something_ other than your tears."

Dany finally noticed the warm tears rolling down her cheeks. She couldn't even bother to feel embarrassed from crying in front of the Kingslayer. "If this is true, how is it no one knows?" she questioned, her voice weak.

"The knights of the Kingsguard are sworn to keep the king's secrets. Would you have me break my oath?" Lannister laughed. "Do you think your noble savior Stark wanted to hear my feeble explanation? Such an _honorable_ man. He only had to look at me to judge me guilty." He lurched to his feet. "By what right does the wolf judge the lion? _By what right?"_

She didn't know. All she knew was that her father, _her father_ … he nearly destroyed the realm. The man she hated her whole life had saved it. Dany clenched her hand into a fist. She wanted to vomit. She wanted to drain herself of her father's blood. An unbidden cry escaped her lips.

Lannister faltered at the sound. He took a step towards her, but stopped when the cell door opened. Dany wiped her tears and turned to see who was entering. Her eyes went wide when it was one of the Lannister envoys, a skinny boy no older than Theon. Behind him was a brute of a man, his knuckles bloodied and carrying a sword.

"Ser Jaime, your brother sent us to rescue you," the skinny one said. His mouth slackened at the sight of her. "S-shall we bring her?"

"No." Lannister strode towards the men and accepted the sword. Where the seven hells was Ser Edmure? Shouldn't his people be stopping this? Dany couldn't let him escape. She wrapped her arms around Lannister's right one, using all her strength to drag him back into the room. "Let go."

"I can't… let you leave." For once, Dany wished she were a man. Being so slight was not helping her. " _Kingslayer!"_

He stopped and looked down at her. "Kingslayer," he repeated, giving her a bitter smile. "I thought we'd grown close in the last hour, yet you still call me that. My name is Jaime Lannister. Just as your name is Daenerys Targaryen."

 _Don't call me that_ , she couldn't help but think. That was her father's name. Her mad father.

"Don't give me that look, girl. I gave you what you wanted. Now let me go."

"Robb will kill you if you escape."

"Your concern touches me. Now _let go_ before I have to hurt you."

She clutched his arm, still trying to haul him back. Jaime Lannister shook her off, hard enough to make her stumble. Dany looked around and saw that all the guards were dead. Chasing after him would only lead to death. She felt so helpless.

In the distance, Dany could hear steel and the sounds of a scrimmage. It must have gone on for hours, as dawn was only approaching when the sounds began to dwindle. She forced herself off the floor and left the cell. She passed the Great Hall during her walk around the castle and glanced inside. Tables were turned over and some bodies belonging to Riverrun were on the floor. At the sound of horses, Dany went in that direction.

Bloody and fettered, Jaime Lannister was being led to the dungeons by Ser Edmure and his men. Along with Lannister were some of the other "envoys."

"Lady Daenerys," Ser Edmure called, dismounting from his horse. "Are you hurt?"

She shook her head. "Where were you?" she demanded.

His cheeks flushed, the color brighter than his beard. "I was not in the castle. I crossed the Tumblestone to, ah…"

Dany waved him off. "You should have been _here_. Some of your men are dead."

"My mistake. But you no harm has come to you? I heard you were in Lannister's cell when he escaped."

"He didn't hurt me." Dany glanced at the man in question. Her chest tightened. She didn't want to kill him anymore, not after the revelations from hours ago. Even as her hate for him abated, he still hurt Bran. Lannister would need to answer to that.

"My lady? Are you…" Ser Edmure trailed off.

 _I'm crying like a child_ , Dany thought. She brushed away her tears. "Are you hurt, ser?" she asked instead.

"Some scratches, but no lasting wounds. Let me to escort you, my lady. You must be exhausted."

Dany nodded and allowed him to lead her back to her bedchamber.

* * *

 **A/N:** Yes, I took away the dragons scene. I realized it could have been more meaningful and more badass. Also, Barristan Selmy isn't here. I wanted to focus on Dany and Jaime. He's a dick in this chapter, but we all know he gets better. Anyway, thanks for reading!


	11. Chapter XI

**A/N:** I edited the last chapter so there are some major changes. I recommend checking that out before reading this one. Hope you guys enjoy and review this chapter!

 **XI.**

The meeting between King Stannis and his brother had gone as well as Melisandre expected. Her king believed it was his duty to sit upon the Iron Throne and would not let anyone get in his way. Not even his own brother was spared from his determination. Melisandre expected nothing less from Azor Ahai, yet…

Daenerys Targaryen was still in Riverrun. It would be better to end the girl now before she realized her gift. However, King Stannis did not view her as a threat.

"Why fret over a child, when Renly sits idly with an army?"

"Leave her be and she will be your undoing."

Her king did consider her words. He would offer an alliance with the Young Wolf in exchange for Daenerys Targaryen. Neither had anticipated Catelyn Stark joining the meeting with Renly. Melisandre figured the woman would not release her late husband's ward to King Stannis. That was fine. What was _not_ fine was her king entering battle against Renly.

"She can wait," he said gruffly. "She's not the one with an army."

"She will have an army of fire made flesh."

"Dragons, you mean?" he asked, then snorted. "The dragons are done. The Targaryens tried to bring them back half a dozen times. And made fools of themselves, or corpses."

Melisandre did not argue. She prayed to R'hllor that her king would persevere, and come to his senses. He was Azor Ahai and would face a far more dangerous enemy in the years to come.

* * *

Two days ride from Riverrun, a scout spotted them watering their horses beside a muddy stream. Catelyn had never been so relieved to see the twin tower badge of House Frey.

"Have you come from Bitterbridge, my lady?" the scout asked.

"No." She hadn't dared. With Renly dead, Catelyn chose not to risk meeting his young widow and her protectors, even with the betrothal arranged. "Lord Renly is slain."

"We'd hoped that tale was some Lannister lie, or—"

"Would that it were. My brother commands in Riverrun?"

"Yes, my lady. His Grace left Ser Edmure to hold Riverrun and guard his rear."

 _Gods grant him the strength to do so_ , thought Catelyn, _and the wisdom_. She learned that Robb had won a great victory at Oxcross. Ser Stafford Lannister was dead, his host scattered and falling back on Lannisport. Lords Karstark and Glover were raiding along the coast, Lady Mormont had captured thousands of cattle and was driving them back toward Riverrun, while the Greatjon had seized the gold mines at Castamere, Nunn's Deep, and the Pendric Hills. The only news that concerned her was Lord Tywin Lannister. Scouts had seen him finally leaving Harrenhal to march west with all his power.

If it weren't for the creature she and Brienne witnessed in Renly's pavilion, Catelyn might have felt enthusiastic about Robb's victory. She could only fear for her son. With Lord Tywin's host approaching, Robb was going to enter the most dangerous battle of his life.

Something dark dangled against the walls of Riverrun. When she neared, she saw dead men hanging from the battlements, slumped at the ends of long ropes with nooses tight around their necks, their faces swollen and black. Their red cloaks still showed bright against the sandstone walls.

"A pretty sight," Ser Wendel Manderly said cheerfully.

"Our friends have begun without us," jested Perwyn Frey. Brienne gazed up at the row of bodies with unblinking eyes, silent as the others laughed. Catelyn hoped to the Seven that they didn't kill the Kingslayer.

Edmure rode out from the castle to meet her. He was surrounded by three of her their father's sworn men—Ser Desmond Grell the master-at-arms, Utherydes Wayn the steward, and Ser Robin Ryger, Riverrun's bald captain of guards. These men had spent their lives in her father's service.

"Cat, it's good to have you safely back," Edmure said, smiling. "When we heard of Renly's death, we feared for your life. And Lord Tywin is on the march as well."

"So I am told. How fares our father?"

"One day he seems stronger, the next…" He shook his head. "He's asked for you. I didn't know what to tell him."

"I will go to him soon," she promised. "Has there been word from Storm's End since Renly died? Or from Bitterbridge?" Catelyn did not know whether the betrothal between Sansa and Willas Tyrell still carried any weight considering Renly's death.

No word from Bitterbridge, but three birds had reached them from Storm's End. Ser Cortnay Penrose wrote that Stannis had him surrounded by land and sea. He offered his allegiance to whichever king would break the siege. "He fears for the boy," Edmure finished, frowning. "What boy would that be, do you know?"

"Edric Storm," Brienne informed them. "Robert's bastard son."

"Stannis has sworn that the garrison might go free, unharmed, provided they yield the castle within the fortnight and deliver the boy into his hands, but Ser Cortnay refuses to consent."

 _He risks all for a baseborn boy whose blood is not even his own_ , Catelyn thought, then remembered Stannis offering his own alliance in exchange for handing over Daenerys. She had refused, unable to trust to red woman with him. Did he plan to finish the purge Robert had wanted on the remaining Targaryens? Catelyn could not see the peril Daenerys posed on the realm.

Edmure's men asked about the manner of Renly's death, but Catelyn found she could not mention the shadow. None of these men would believe her or Brienne. She gestured to the bodies, hoping to get past the subject of Renly. "Who are these men you've hanged?"

"They came with Ser Cleos when he brought the queen's answer to our peace offer," Edmure answered, shifting uncomfortably.

"You've killed _envoys?"_

"False envoys," Edmure hastily corrected. He went on to tell Catelyn of how he granted them freedom of the castle after surrendering their weapons. On the fourth night of their stay, they tried to free the Kingslayer, using a mummer and all. She suspected this was the Imp's work. "Lady Daenerys was in his cell when they broke him out."

Her eyes widened. What was she doing in there? "Was she harmed?"

Her brother shook his head. "Unharmed, but she was crying when I met with her. I do not know what went on in there, nor have I have seen her leave her bedchamber since."

She would need to speak with Daenerys after visiting her father. The girl never remained in her chambers for long periods of time. Edmure continued, relieving Catelyn's fears that the Kingslayer had escaped. He killed two men—and one was well on his way to becoming a third—before he was apprehended. Ser Cleos swore he knew nothing of the plot.

"Can we hope for no help from the south, Lady Stark?" asked Utherydes Wayn. "This charge of incest… Lord Tywin does not suffer such slights lightly. He will seek to wash the stain from his daughter's name with blood of her accuser. Lord Stannis must see that. He has no choice but to make common cause with us."

 _Stannis has made common cause with a power greater and darker_. "Let us speak of these matters later," Catelyn told them. She would write to Renly's widow after seeking out her father and ward. "Can Robb be reached by raven?"

"He's in the field, my lady," Ser Desmond replied. "The bird would have no way to find him."

Utherydes Wayn coughed. "Before he left us, the young king instructed us to send you to the Twins upon your return, Lady Stark. He asks that you learn more of Lord Walder's daughters, to help him select his bride when the time comes."

"We'll provide you with fresh mounts and provisions," her brother promised. "You'll want to refresh yourself before—"

"I'll want to stay," Catelyn interrupted, dismounting. To leave Riverrun when her father was dying was inconceivable. Robb wanted her safe, which she could not fault him for, but she would be safer in the castle she grew up in than Walder Frey's fortress. "I'll be with Father if you need me."

Brienne walked alongside her as Catelyn went to find her father. She received curious stares from the staff, but no one said anything. When she reached her father, Catelyn could not deny the disappointment permeating through her as he remained unchanged from when she left him. The room was a miasma of sickness.

When he did not recognize her, mistaking her for Lysa, and began to shake with pain, Catelyn couldn't watch anymore. She stepped out to the terrace. Maester Vyman followed her out. "My lady, I cannot keep the end at bay much longer. We ought to send a rider after his brother. Ser Brynden would wish to be here."

"Yes," Catelyn said, unable to keep the grief out of her voice.

"And the Lady Lysa as well, perhaps?"

"Lysa will not come."

"If you wrote to her yourself, perhaps…"

"I will write to her, if that pleases you."

She ducked her head, an unbidden tear sliding down her cheek. Breathing deeply, Catelyn composed herself before standing upright and leaving her father's room.

"You should rest, my lady," advised Brienne quietly. Catelyn agreed with her, but Daenerys was on her mind and her nebulous reasons for being with the Kingslayer troubled her.

Her ward took some time to answer her door. When she did, Catelyn widened her eyes at how haggard Daenerys appeared. Dressed in only a robe, her hair was unwashed and tangled, her eyes puffy and drab. Daenerys widened her eyes at the sight of her.

"Lady Stark, if I had known you were coming, I would have met you at the gates," she said demurely. She glanced behind Catelyn.

"This is Brienne of Tarth, the daughter of Lord Selwyn the Evenstar, who served in Renly's Rainbow Guard," Catelyn told her. "Brienne, this is my ward Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen."

"I am honored to meet you," Daenerys said, giving the bigger girl a small smile. Brienne flushed, just as she had when Catelyn introduced her to Edmure and their father's men. Did no one treat her with such courtesy? Catelyn didn't know she could feel anymore pity for the girl. "Do you both want to come in?"

She ignored Daenerys's apologies about the state of her bedchambers and went over to the nearest table. Brienne remained at the door, awkward and unsure of where to stand. Catelyn smiled wanly at the girl before turning to her ward.

"Daenerys, what were you doing in Jaime Lannister's cell?"

Hesitation was ripe on her face. Finally, she answered. "I went to get answers, my lady… for Bran's fall."

Catelyn couldn't think of anything to say. The young girl went out of her way speak to the man she loathed for her, for Bran. She reached across the table to place her hands over Daenerys's clasped ones. Catelyn stared at her for a moment before urging her on.

Releasing a shuddering breath, she said, "He pushed Bran."

The confession took Catelyn's voice away for an instant. Her son, her son who loved to climb more than anything in this world, had been pushed by the Kingslayer. She didn't even see him when he woke. Was he suffering?

This was not the Jaime Lannister she remembered. Catelyn remembered his time in Riverrun, spending a fortnight with them. He was often with Edmure and during meals, he'd ignore Lysa to request stories of war from her uncle Brynden. He'd talk to Catelyn whenever he'd see her. She even found him _charming_.

" _Why?"_ Catelyn asked, anguished.

"Because he was with Cersei. Bran saw them together," she answered quietly. The rumors were true then. Jaime was the father of Cersei's children. Did Lord Tywin know? Catelyn doubted it. The man did not seem agreeable to incest. "He says he did not hire anyone to kill Bran."

"And you believe him?"

"Yes."

Her throat constricted as Catelyn struggled to come to terms to the information. She flinched when there was a knock at the door. Squeezing Daenerys's hands one last time, Catelyn went to open it. Utherydes Wayn stood with two women garbed in grey, their faces cowled save for their eyes.

"Ser Cleos brought your husband's remains from King's Landing, my lady," Utherydes told her.

She clutched the doorframe, closing her eyes for a moment. Robb, her father, Bran… this was too much for her. Inhaling deeply, Catelyn opened her eyes and nodded. "I'll be back, Daenerys," she said, glancing behind her. She needed to see her Ned.

* * *

Today was the day Princess Myrcella Baratheon left for Dorne.

Sansa only knew that the princess was betrothed to a prince of Dorne—the youngest she believed. Ser Arys Oakheart joined Myrcella as her sworn shield. She would miss him out of all the Kingsguard. He was the only one who tried not to hurt her any more than Joffrey commanded.

Prince Tommen couldn't hide his tears. Sansa felt a twinge of sympathy. She knew the prince was close to his sister. "You mew like a suckling babe," Joffrey hissed at him. "Princes aren't supposed to cry."

"Prince Aemon the Dragonknight cried the day Princess Naerys wed his brother Aegon," Sansa said, unable to stop herself. "And the twins, Ser Arryk and Ser Erryk, died with tears on their cheeks after each had given the other a mortal wound."

"Be quiet, or I'll have Ser Meryn give _you_ a mortal wound," Joffrey snapped.

She remained quiet and turned to the ships leaving the shore. Out on the river, _Bold Wind_ unshipped her oars and glided downstream in the wake of _Seaswift_. Last came _King Robert's Hammer_. Her mind drifted to earlier, when someone had left a note in her bedchamber. _When trouble arises return to the docks_ , it read. Sansa burned it after reading it thrice. It could have been a trick. Joffrey might test her, just to have another reason to beat her.

Once the little fleet was well out into the bay, Queen Cersei announced it was time to leave. The narrow streets were lined by men of the City Watch, holding back the crowd with the shafts of their spears. Sansa tried not to glance around her at the resentful eyes watching them.

Halfway along the route, a wailing woman forced her way between two watchmen and ran out into the street in front of them. Sansa's eyes widened when she held out the corpse of her dead baby above her head. Joffrey nearly ran her down, but stopped in time.

Sansa leaned over her horse and whispered to him, "Give her a silver stag. Show them how generous you are."

"Fine," he snapped, and fumbled in his purse for a coin. He flung it at the woman, but it bounced off the child and rolled away under the legs of the gold cloaks and into the crowd, where a dozen men began to fight for it. Sansa's skin pebbled with goose pimples at the unwavering eyes of the mother.

"Leave her, Your Grace," Cersei called out, "she's beyond our help, poor thing."

The woman's face twisted into utter hatred. " _Whore!"_ she shrieked. " _Kingslayer's whore! Brotherfucker!"_ She dropped her child to point at the queen, repeating the words, " _Brotherfucker_."

Sansa gasped when someone threw dung at Joffrey. Most of it caked his hair and face, while some splattered over her skirts. He bellowed a curse as he wiped the brown filth off his cheek. "Who threw that?" Joffrey screamed, his face reddening with fury. "I want the man who threw that!" he shouted. "A hundred golden dragons to the man who gives him up."

In the crowd, people were pointing, shoving, cursing one another and the king. Sansa knew this would only end badly. " _Please_ , Your Grace, let him go," she begged, hoping to leave before everything worsened. Everyone around them was restless. It was only a matter of seconds before the crowd would erupt.

"Bring me the man who flung that filth!" Joffrey commanded, ignoring her. "He'll lick it off me or I'll have his head. Dog, you bring him here!"

Ser Sandor Clegane swung down from his saddle, but could not get pass the mass of people. Tyrion Lannister tried to get Ser Sandor to return, but Joffrey insisted he wanted the man responsible for disrespecting him. Suddenly, people began to scream different things. Sansa thought she heard Robb's name. More people began to shout for food. The gold cloaks struggled to hold the line.

 _When trouble arises return to the docks_ , Sansa remembered. She watched Joffrey and the others ride off in the direction of the castle. Searching for courage in her thundering heart, Sansa spurred her horse the opposite way. She tried not to run anyone down, but feared her chestnut courser had stomped on some of the crowd's feet. Something hurdled in her direction, hitting her on the scalp. Sansa cried out as a sharp pain struck her.

" _Bread! Give us bread!"_ they shouted.

"I can't… I have no bread…" Sansa tried, but no one listened. She shrieked when someone grabbed her waist and dragged her off her courser. Before they could hold her, Sansa shoved past them with all her might and continued in the direction of the docks.

People grabbed at her. Sansa flung her jeweled net of moonstones at them, hoping that would distract them. She removed her earrings, necklace, and bracelets next. Some of the mob seemed to forget her as they fought for her jewels. Sansa ran, then shrieked when someone seized her. She thrashed against them, but more men tugged at her gown.

Something warm and wet sprayed across her face. Sansa stilled completely, her screams dying in her throat as blood spattered her face and torn gown. One of the men who had her was impaled through the chest with a spear, his mouth gaping and eyes bulging in shock. The spear was pulled out and his body collapsed beside Sansa. She gasped when the man holding the spear thrust it through another man's throat.

"Anyone else wish to die?" the man demanded.

No one bothered to answer. The men attacking her ran off, afraid of this spear-wielding savior. She looked up at their face and saw a comely young man. Stubble covered his strong jaw, and blue eyes like the summer sky peered into hers. His scowl faded as he offered her his hand. Sansa raised a shaky one of her own and he hoisted her to her feet.

"Who are you?" she asked, fear coiling within her.

"I am Ser Daemon Sand of Godsgrace, my lady," he answered. He looked out at the burning city briefly before returning his gaze to Sansa. "The Martells have sent me to rescue you."

* * *

Tyrion was going to kill his nephew.

He already slapped the boy for causing a riot, but now Sansa Stark had been missing for _hours_ and the Hound could not find her. Flea Bottom nearly burned down and others were still missing. Tyrion could only care for the Stark girl. The youngest one was most likely dead and Sansa had been their only chance for Jaime to return unharmed. Because of Joffrey's stupidity, Jaime was as good as dead.

"What in the seven hells are we going to do?" Cersei demanded, when the two were alone. "Jaime's going to _die_ , Tyrion."

 _You think I don't know that?_ He nearly snapped, but refrained himself. Cersei might turn on him if she needed someone to blame for the girl's disappearance.

"We still have Viserys—"

"Like Robb Stark gives a shit about him! He only cares for his sisters."

"Once Father defeats the boy in the westerlands, we'll offer the Tullys peace in exchange for Jaime. Until then…" Tyrion gulped down his wine. "We forge Sansa Stark's letters."

Cersei narrowed her eyes, yet nodded all the same. "It'll have to do."

It was the _only_ thing they could do.

* * *

Snow fell around her, but Daenerys could not feel it.

She held out her hand, but the familiar chill of the white powder did not come. Lowering her arm, Dany walked around the empty castle. She searched for a godswood and found Eddard Stark sitting on the ground, cleaning his greatsword with the black water from the pool. He smiled at her, his grey eyes soft like fog.

"There you are," he said, "come here. You're safe now. You'll always be safe."

Her heart ached and she stepped towards him, ready to throw herself into his arms and lose herself in his hold. His smile waned and his head fell forward off his shoulders. No, no, no… Not him. Dany backed away and ran.

The castle was huge, growing bigger and darker the longer Dany ran. She felt like a mouse inside this castle meant for giants. Running until she could run no more, Dany stopped before a great pair of bronze doors. She pushed one open, lighter than she expected. When she looked up, a soundless scream escaped her throat.

Suspended from the rafters, a lord dressed in armor was slowly getting roasted by fire. His skin melted off, sliding off his face and revealing his white bones. His cape and armor dripped into the flames, following his flesh. It was so horrible, but Dany couldn't look away.

"No! No! _Stop!"_ screamed a man.

Beside her was a man, tall and dark-haired, with his hands tied behind his back and a cord tightening around his neck with every step he took towards the sword on the floor. His words were lost in his screams, turning more beastly the longer the other man burned. Underneath his beard, he looked like Jon.

" _Please_ ," cried out Dany. She turned to someone, _anyone_ , to stop this. Her heart lodged in her throat at the sight of Jaime Lannister standing at the foot of the Iron Throne in gilded armor. She ran over to him and shook him. "Stop this! _Do something!"_

Jaime Lannister continued to have that distant glaze in his eyes. Dany let go of him to stare up at the Iron Throne. Upon the towering barbed throne sat an old man in rich robes, with dark eyes and long silver-grey hair. "Let him be king over charred bones and cooked meat," he said, to who she did not know. "Let him be the king of ashes."

He seemed to finally notice Dany. _Aerys,_ she realized. This was her father… Dany stepped back, but fell to the ground when the old man was suddenly in front of her. His nails were so long and his hair unkempt. She could see flames dancing in his eyes, wild like his madness.

"Why would you do this?" she asked. Tears slid down her cheeks, but they turned to steam as they touched her skin.

Her father smiled thinly. "Such a sweet girl," he croaked, lifting his hand to her. "Remember who you are."

He opened his mouth and fire poured out. His heart burned through his chest, and a dragon burst from his brow. As the world took flames, Dany flinched awake. Her arms were wrapped around a dragon's egg. It was the pale one, its scales the color of butter cream, with swirls of gold and bronze.

"The grief and glory of our house," she remembered Aemon saying, when she met with him for the first time. Dany could just read a book about the Dance of the Dragons to know that misery followed dragons.

Rhaegar wanted to bring back dragons, and so did their father. She did not know what their reasons were, but Dany could only guess what sort of destruction her father would have caused with dragons. If Dany hatched her eggs, she'd use them to ensure victory against the Lannisters. Then perhaps people would look at her differently. She could be better than her father. But how? How do you bring back something long dead?

No answers were found by the time Dany was up and dressed. Since Lady Stark returned from Bitterbridge, Dany found some sort of strength to leave her bedchamber. She had missed the older woman dearly and went to see her after a maid had finished braiding her hair. Dany remembered Lady Stark brushing and braiding her hair when she was a child. It felt like ages had passed since then.

Lady Stark was in her rooms with her woman knight Brienne. She towered over every woman in the castle and even some men, dressed in men's mail. Brienne wasn't comely, but her eyes were pretty. Large and glittering like a comet bleeding through the sky.

"You look better this morning," commented Lady Stark.

The nightmare and lingering questions did nothing to refresh her, but Dany did not mention them. Instead she tilted her head, frowning. Lady Stark's face was pale and drawn. What could worry her so? Lord Tywin had passed Riverrun without issue, and his Bloody Mummers wouldn't dare attack the castle.

"My lady, are you well?" she asked.

"There was a bird earlier this morning," Lady Stark said, staring at her remaining meal. "The maester wok me at once."

"Is it news from Robb?" Fear held Dany's heart in its tight clutches.

"The bird came from Ser Rodrik. Torrhen's Square is under attack by ironborn. He's gathering what power he can to defend it." This was not good. That left Winterfell undefended. Why were the ironborn attacking the north? Didn't Robb send Theon to Pyke as an envoy? "I think Theon is part of this."

Dany snapped her head up. " _Theon?"_ she repeated.

Her blue eyes were hard. "There's been no word from him since he left. If he completed his task, Lord Balon should be attacking the Lannisters, not us."

She was right, painfully so, but Dany couldn't believe it. Theon Greyjoy, the boy she'd known since she was four. The same Theon she was moonstruck over when she was a little girl. He was Robb's best friend. He wouldn't betray him like this.

"Perhaps his father rejected Robb's offer," Dany reasoned, shaking her head. "Theon wouldn't do this. Your husband never mistreated him."

"But he was a hostage," Lady Stark reminded her.

"Only in name!" she protested.

"A hostage all the same. Theon knew that. The boy is desperate for approval. You must have seen that, Daenerys." Lady Stark's expression was pained. "Gods, he ate at my table since he was a boy of ten… Do you think he would take Winterfell? What if he hurt my boys?"

Bran and Rickon had their direwolves, but Sansa's had been beheaded and Arya's was lost. The ironborn could kill them. Robb and Jon were battling Lord Tywin. There was no way they could wait for them to return and retake the north. Perhaps they didn't need an army, perhaps…

"I'll go to Torrhen's Square," Dany decided. "I could talk to him, convince him to release the castle." _Someone must_. "His father might have forced him to take it. I could remind him of his loyalty to Robb make sure your sons are unharmed."

"What makes you think he will listen to you? He betrayed my _son_ ," the older woman pointed out.

"He loves me," Dany blurted out. That was an overstatement, but Lady Stark didn't need to know that. "He might be more inclined to listen to me."

"This is dangerous, Daenerys."

"I know."

Lady Stark regarded her for a long time, so long that Dany feared the woman would deny her. Finally, she said, "I will talk to Edmure about it." Her eyes softened and she added, "I cannot thank you enough, Daenerys."

Warmth spread through her. Dany would protect the Starks just as they protected her.

* * *

The dungeons of Riverrun were dank and infested with rats, as were most dungeons.

Jaime Lannister sat on the floor of his cell, his back resting against the wall and his knees drawn up to his chest. If he listened, he could hear the rats scampering in and out of his cell. When one got too close, he'd rattle his chains to scare them off. His only company besides the rats was the turnkey, and he told Jaime nothing but vile lies.

In what felt like centuries did someone eventually visit him down in this wretched place.

"Did you miss me?" he asked, smiling lazily.

"Yes, I longed to visit my father's slayer," Daenerys replied, stepping closer to his cell.

Seeing her again reminded him of the night of Tyrion's botched rescue. Jaime could not remember everything, being drunk and all, but the despair on Daenerys's face was unforgettable. She called him a monster and Jaime supposed he was for telling her anything her father did during his reign. Monster or not, no one else was going to tell the girl, so the honor befell upon him. Eddard Stark prided himself on his honor, but didn't possess the courage to tell the truth to a fifteen-year-old girl.

It was out of spite that he agreed to tell her in the first place. Why _shouldn't_ he oblige her wishes, foolish as they were? It would only hurt her and that was what Jaime wanted. He was stuck in a cell away from his Cersei, while this girl tried to act like Aegon with Teats. If he was going to be miserable, so should she. He thought of telling the girl that she was probably born out of rape, but then he noticed her face. She looked so much like Rhaella then. Jaime had slayed countless men with his sword, but he destroyed Daenerys Targaryen with just his words.

The guilt was worse than any wound he ever received.

"Why have you decided to grace me with your presence, my lady?" Jaime inquired, tilting his head at her.

"I've come to say goodbye," she told him. Her skin resembled amber under the torchlight.

Jaime hid his panic behind a smirk. "I'm finally to be executed?"

Daenerys smiled, amused. "I didn't take you as eager to die," she remarked. "I'm returning north. I could not leave without thanking you."

Now Jaime couldn't hide his shock. " _Thank me?"_ he echoed. What could she possibly thank him for?

"For telling me the truth about my father, when no one else would," she explained, shifting on her feet.

He struggled to think of a response, but no words could form. This was a first for him. No one ever thanked him for slaying their father. _What an unusual girl_ , thought Jaime.

When the girl and the silence lingered, Jaime rested his chin on his knees as he leaned forward. "You look like you want to say something," he noted, smirking.

She hesitated, then shook her head. "I'd rather not have another session with you _here_."

"You could always remove these chains," Jaime suggested, clinking his chains. "We could share a drink. Make a night of trading atrocious stories."

"Like we're old friends?" Daenerys said, releasing a small laugh. It was a sweet sound. "That was one time, Lannister."

"I'm not the Kingslayer anymore?"

Her cheeks colored red, but her voice remained steady. "You will always be the Kingslayer," she replied, stepping away from his cell. "But you aren't _only_ the Kingslayer."

Jaime took in her words. Did she think there was more to him than king slaying? She was an odd girl, but most Targaryens were. Rhaegar had been strange as well. It was the madness in their blood.

"Safe travels, my lady," he called after her. She might have waved, but the light disappeared with her, leaving Jaime to rot in the darkness.

* * *

 **A/N:** So, I had this idea where Jaime and Brienne went with Dany to Winterfell, and while that would have been cool, it wouldn't have made sense. Anyways, pretty short chapter but exciting things are happening in the next one. Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter and review it!


	12. Chapter XII

**XII.**

After months of contemplating what to do now that he was dismissed from the Kingsguard, Barristan Selmy found himself searching for Daenerys Targaryen.

Had Joffrey not cast him aside, Barristan would not have realized that wasn't where he belonged. His place was with the true king… whoever that was. Many men were calling themselves kings these days. Stannis Baratheon was a just man, one who would commit himself to a task unflinchingly, yet he was unable to rally men to join him. If he could not do that, how could he rule a kingdom? There was Renly. who could win friends more easily than his elder brother. But winning friends did not make him fit to be king. Barristan could see Renly sitting in council spouting jests instead of ruling, as he always did when he sat in at Robert's councils. Balon Greyjoy was a fearless man. This was his second attempt at becoming the King of the Iron Islands, but he would turn Westeros into a lawless land, something Barristan could not abide by.

That left Robb Stark. For a boy of fifteen to remain unbeaten in the field was impressive. Barristan knew the Lannisters feared Eddard Stark's son. He saw the fear plain on Cersei's face at Stark's execution. She knew once Stark's head was detached from his body, they would experience Robb's wrath. Barristan could not blame the boy. They killed his father and kept his sisters hostage, and everyone knew what happened to prisoners under a Lannister's care. He understood why Robb was fighting, but the boy was vengeful and more importantly, a _boy._

Then he remembered his conversation with Eddard Stark, when the Lord of Winterfell had finally reached the Red Keep and settled in his new quarters. For the past thirteen years, Stark had raised Daenerys Stormborn. He risked his life to protect her, and the man would never know how much that meant to Barristan. "A sweet young girl. My children adore her," Stark told Barristan, bemused when asked about Daenerys.

The description wasn't much, but Barristan trusted Stark's words. He learned, however, that behind her sweetness was a ferocity all Targaryens bore. According to some of the guards who accompanied the royal family to Winterfell, Daenerys defended Robb Stark by challenging both Joffrey and the _Hound's_ manhood. The guards he overhead mocked Robb for needing a girl to defend him, but Barristan understood why she did something so reckless. Stark mentioned his children adoring her, so she must have felt the same. Her loyalty only reminded Barristan of his own. He had seen Aerys and his madness, and while he served him until the end, he thought Robert could be better. Elia and her children should have been the first sign that Robert was no different, but Barristan had been afraid.

It took over a decade, but Barristan found his courage and this courage led him to find his true _queen_.

For months he traveled down the river road to reach the Starks. Barristan knew the Young Wolf had gathered his northern bannermen to rescue his family in King's Landing. His army only grew larger when he defeated Jaime Lannister in the Whispering Wood. Barristan assumed Daenerys would remain in Winterfell, where it was safer, but rumors of her attempt on the Kingslayer's life made him head for Riverrun. He doubted half the rumors.

When he was only hours from reaching Riverrun, Barristan spotted a scout nearby. The young man looked relieved for some company.

"Can you take me to Daenerys Targaryen?" asked Barristan.

The scout eyed him, unaware of who he was. Not that Barristan blamed him. He had grown out his hair and beard to disguise himself from any gold cloaks, nor did he don the white armor of the Kingsguard.

"And what for?" the scout asked.

"I am here to serve her."

"Ah." The scout began to laugh. "I'd like to 'serve her' too, but she's gone, old man. She's going back to Winterfell I think."

Barristan nodded. Robb must have realized how dangerous it was for her to remain in Riverrun and told her to return to Winterfell. He thanked the scout and continued his journey for his queen.

* * *

Nothing could drown out the roaring in Jon's ears as he dragged Robb's limp body away from the assault on the Crag. He was exhausted and wounded from their skirmish in Ashemark days ago, but he could not slow down. Not when Robb was bleeding out from the arrow he was not fast enough to dodge.

He found a boulder and rested Robb against it. Robb groaned and felt for the arrow still penetrating his body. Jon grabbed his groping hand and held it. He didn't think removing the arrow was a good idea.

"Robb," he muttered, when his cousin's eyes fluttered closed. " _Robb_. Stay awake."

Robb started to laugh, but ended up coughing instead. "You… you haven't called me Robb… since…"

"I know." Since their fight in Riverrun, neither had spoken to one another unless it involved their plunder across the westerlands. He hoped they'd get over it eventually, but he didn't think it would take an arrow wound for them to speak again. "We'll find you a maester and you'll be fine."

"Jon." The soberness in Robb's voice did not bode well with him. "If I don't recover from this… you… you have to…"

He had an idea where this was going. Jon shook his head, wincing from the gash on his right cheek. "You're not dying, so don't talk like you are."

Robb's lips twitched, as if to smile, but didn't speak again. Perhaps he was in too much pain to speak. Jon glanced behind him, wondering if the others had successfully taken the Crag. It was more of a ruin than a castle, and he doubted it would cause much trouble. Of course, no one anticipated the king to take an arrow, but that was a minor setback. At least, Jon hoped so.

Brynden Blackfish eventually found them, tired but unhurt. He immediately went to help Jon heft Robb up. Even as they slowly pulled him to his feet, Robb still groaned in pain. _Almost there_ , thought Jon. They'd reach the castle and find a maester and Robb would be _fine_ —

"He can rest in my room," offered a feminine voice.

Jon hadn't even noticed when they entered the castle, or the girl standing before them. She was around his age, slender with brown eyes and chestnut hair cascading in tangled curls down her back. She wore only her sleeping shift, but didn't seem to care that she was in presence of strange men.

"Jeyne," hissed another woman. Her mother most likely.

"It's fine. I can treat his wounds," the girl—Jeyne—insisted. "Can he make it up the stairs?"

"He'll have to," Jon muttered. He would have smiled if he weren't drained of energy. "Thank you."

Jeyne gave him a tight smile and led them upstairs. Each step was agony, but Jon forced himself to move. Robb could not die. He couldn't lose him too.

Robb was unconscious when they reached Jeyne's chambers. Jon went over to help Jeyne undress him, but Brynden touched his shoulder. "You should rest," the older knight advised.

"I can't. I need to know… need to make sure he's fine," Jon said, shaking his head.

"He'll be fine," Brynden assured him gruffly. "Rest. I'll find someone to clean that gash on your face."

Jon couldn't argue. He sat down heavily in the nearest chair and the moment he was settled, sleep took him. He dreamt not of war, but of the godswood in Winterfell. He sat down on the grass, leaning against the weirwood tree. Lying beside him was Dany, her head resting on his shoulder. Tucked behind her left ear was a winter rose, the blue of its petals stark against the silver-blonde of her hair. There was a calmness in the air that Jon hadn't felt in ages.

She looked up at him, her violet eyes half-lidded and beautiful. The ache in his heart from missing her was sudden and visceral. He only had her ribbon, but that was tattered now. Jon turned away from her, desperate to dream of something else. He wasn't in the godswood anymore. He was in the stables… with Arya. She was chattering about something as she climbed her horse. Once she was mounted, she shot Jon one of her horsey smiles and motioned for him to follow.

 _No, no, no._ Dreaming of Arya was worse. At least Dany was waiting in Riverrun for him. He didn't know where his little sister was. Robb thought she was dead, but she wasn't. She couldn't be. Not many people thought Arya was clever, but she was nimble and Jon _knew_ she could survive until they found her. She had Needle, and she knew how to use it.

Somehow, he drifted somewhere deeper in his mind. He wasn't in Jeyne Westerling's chambers anymore, but outside the castle, edging along the coast where dawn was approaching. Grey Wind was with him. He blinked his yellow eyes at him before leaping forward, tacking him to the ground. They romped around in the grass, nipping and scratching at one another. He and Grey Wind began to fade as someone shook Jon awake.

 _Another wolf dream_ , he thought. Jon rubbed his eyes, groaning. He was sore and unrested. He must have slept for two hours.

"My lord?" a soft voice called.

Jon finally noticed Jeyne. She was dressed properly now and her hair was untangled. "I'm no lord, my lady," he told her, rising out of his chair.

"Oh." She fidgeted with her hands. "What should I call you?"

"Jon is fine," he answered, stifling a yawn. He looked at the bed, where Robb laid sleeping. Jon stood and moved closer, noticing the bandages on his bare chest. " _You_ did this?"

"Our maester died two years ago. He taught me everything he knew, in case someone was hurt," Jeyne replied, turning towards the window.

Teaching women the ways of a maester was unheard of, but Jon was thankful she knew. Without her, Robb might have died. Jon shoved that thought back. He wouldn't let anymore Starks die at the hands of Lannisters.

"Thank you, Jeyne," Jon said, truly grateful for her help.

Jeyne turned to face him, her eyes wide. Then she smiled and nodded. When he lingered by Robb's bed, she remarked, "I'd offer to draw you a bath, but you don't seem likely to leave him."

"Not until he wakes," Jon said quietly.

She watched him and when her stare began to feel uncomfortable, she noted, "You're… quite loyal to your king."

"He's more than my king." Jon stared at Robb's unshaven face. It was lax with sleep, the most relaxed he'd seen of him since before the war. "He's my blood."

* * *

The _Aliandra_ was a small ship, quite possibly the smallest ship Sansa ever set foot on, but Ser Daemon told her it was necessary if they wanted to reach Braavos in time with Myrcella Baratheon's fleet. When he mentioned that they were to meet with the same Dornish escort as the princess, Sansa considered jumping off the ship.

He must have noticed the color draining from her face. "No harm shall come to you so long as I am your shield, my lady."

The sincerity in his words made her face warm. Sansa couldn't recall any knights pledging themselves to protect her, nor could she remember if any protected her so viciously as Ser Daemon. The merciless way he cut down those men plagued her dreams. The tourney in King's Landing did not compare to the carnage she first witnessed.

Yet Ser Daemon was not a cruel man. He treated her courteously and made certain she was comfortable as they sailed to Braavos. Sansa couldn't even find herself angry at him when he denied her answers to _why_ the Martells were rescuing her when his voice was so gentle and gracious. How could a bastard be so kind when a crown prince like Joffrey was so _heartless?_ She thought of Jon and immediately felt stupid. Her cousin was always kind to her and her siblings, yet she often ignored him in favor of Jeyne Poole and Daenerys. Why had she done that?

 _He must hate me_ , she thought, guilt filling her.

Arya must hate her too. The last time she saw her little sister, they had a terrible fight. If Sansa knew that would be the last time she would see her… She blinked back unbidden tears. Who knew she would miss Arya? Wherever she was, Sansa prayed she was alive and finding her way home. When they would meet again, Sansa would hug her until her arms grew tired, even if she was filthy.

"When we reach Braavos, what will happen?" Sansa asked, when she found Ser Daemon on deck in the early morning.

"We dye your hair," he replied. He gestured to her windblown hair. "I am told your red hair is recognizable. We can't have the Lannisters know of your location."

"But if we're meeting the same escort as Princess Myrcella, won't we encounter Lannisters? How can we avoid them?" Sansa questioned, holding on to the railing of the ship.

Ser Daemon hesitated. "Don't concern yourself with that, my lady. You follow me and we will reach Dorne unharmed, where you will be safe."

Safe. That was something Sansa hadn't felt in a long time, but she supposed anywhere far away from Joffrey was safe.

* * *

The first time Myrcella stepped foot outside the Red Keep was when her father took them to visit the Lord of Winterfell. Her mother and Joffrey were miserable the whole trip, but Myrcella loved every moment of it. The air outside King's Landing was cleaner and she savored the smell of it. When they ventured through their first forest, she picked wildflowers with Tommen and hopped across a small brook. Her mother had been displeased to find her gown soaking wet by the time she and Tommen returned to camp.

She couldn't forget the morning she and her uncle Jaime found a doe. He held her hand and slowly led her towards it, careful not to scare it off. The doe's ears had flickered, but it hadn't stopped drinking from the brook. Myrcella reached out her hand and laughed in delight when the doe nuzzled her palm with its wet nose before returning its focus to the brook. Jaime grinned and bravely scratched the animal behind its ears. "Lovely, isn't it, Cella?" whispered her uncle. Nothing could ruin Myrcella's day after that, not even Joffrey's complaints or her parents arguing.

Now, Myrcella was in Braavos. Petting the doe was still her favorite memory, but Braavos was soon to become a close second. Everywhere she and Ser Arys looked, there was a show. Water dancers dueled at the Moon Pool, while mummers performed wonderful stories. Women as lovely as her mother strolled through the streets. Some approached Ser Arys and whispered things to him that made his face flush red. He refused to tell her what they said to him.

Ser Arys's face hadn't lost its blush when he was told they were to meet with their escort in a barge owned by a woman called the Black Pearl.

"Why are they looking at us?" Myrcella questioned, noticing the strange looks shot towards them.

"Do not concern yourself with them, Princess. Let's focus on our escort," Ser Arys replied, embarrassed.

Once inside the barge, their escort turned out to be a woman.

"You must be the Princess Myrcella," she said, smiling. She was stunning and slim as a willow, with dark eyes, full lips, and high cheekbones. Her black hair was worn in a long braid down her back. "I am Nymeria Sand, daughter of Prince Oberyn. My uncle, Prince Doran, has sent me as your escort."

"Prince Doran has sent a _bastard_ to escort the princess?" Ser Arys echoed, affronted.

Nymeria's smile slipped from her face. "Bastards are regarded highly in Dorne."

Myrcella glanced between her knight and her escort. "Prince Doran would not send her if he did not trust her, Ser Arys," she remarked, hoping to make the woman feel better. It seemed to work as Nymeria's smile returned.

"Before we board our ship to Dorne, I have a gift for you, Princess," she said, turning around. "Come out, sweetling."

Stepping out of another room, a girl of thirteen approached them. She was almost Nymeria's height, with pale skin and long, thick dark brown hair. Myrcella could not see much of her face since the girl kept her head down.

"Her name is Alayne. She shall be one of your handmaidens," Nymeria explained.

"Hello, Alayne," Myrcella greeted.

Alayne finally lifted her head and for a fleeting moment, Myrcella thought she recognized her. Those high cheekbones and blue eyes… where had she seen them before? She was so sure she'd seen someone with those exact facial features.

"Princess," the girl murmured, lowering her head again.

Nymeria and Ser Arys continued talking, but Myrcella could only focus on her new handmaiden. It was strange. She had never met this girl before, but felt like she had. _Where_ would she have met Alayne? The sensation never left, even as they boarded the ship the Dornish sent for them. It wasn't until much later, when she, her cousin Rosamund, and Alayne were in bed did she finally recognize the girl.

She waited until Rosamund was asleep to speak up into the unlit cabin. "I know who you are," she whispered. Alayne stiffened and didn't move to roll over and face her. Myrcella stared up at the ceiling, trying to focus on the soft rocking of the ship. "I won't tell anyone. I wouldn't want to go back either."

For a long time, Sansa Stark didn't speak. Myrcella thought she had fallen asleep when she whispered back, " _Thank you_."

* * *

Cersei picked up a looking glass and regarded herself for a moment. Her golden hair was tousled, lips stained red from her wine, and green eyes glittering from the light of the candles lit in her chambers. Cersei imagined Jaime staring back at her except his smile was sharper. She set the looking glass down, her own reflection reminding her too much of Jaime. She missed him, and she knew he missed her too. Jaime couldn't be without her for so long. It made her wonder how he was coping without having her in his arms. He needed her, but she couldn't save him and it pained her to depend on _Tyrion_ to bring him back.

She poured herself more wine, resentment suffusing through her. Cersei always dreamed of becoming queen of the Seven Kingdoms, but she hadn't wanted to become _Robert's_ queen. He took from her the man she dreamt of ruling beside her. It was as if the gods made it their duty to keep Cersei and Rhaegar apart. First Elia, who was nothing compared to Cersei with her frail health and flat chest. Then there was Lyanna. Rhaegar and Robert's obsessions with her baffled her. What did a boyish, skinny _northern_ girl have that Cersei lacked? Rhaegar was a strange man to choose Lyanna over her.

When she was at court, Cersei could never figure out what he was thinking. No one could. Of course, Cersei never concerned herself with figuring out Rhaegar's thoughts. She spent most of her time listening to him sing and dreaming of their wedding.

Daenerys Targaryen had her elder brother's good looks. She was half a girl when Cersei last saw her, slim and flat chested, but Cersei knew the girl would blossom into something greater. The mere thought of a girl more beautiful than herself was infuriating. Even if the girl _could_ have been her good-sister had Rhaegar freed himself from whatever spell that wolf girl put him under, Cersei still wouldn't have stood for it. Once her father destroyed Robb Stark's army in the westerlands, Cersei would do what Tywin had done to his father's mistress. She would strip Daenerys naked and parade her through the streets of King's Landing before ending her once and for all.

Before this shameful walk, Cersei wanted the girl to see her long lost brother. See the brother that escaped Stark and Stannis's fingers on Dragonstone for the first time… only to have his head decapitated from his body. At least _that_ execution would be planned. She sipped her wine, considering the second son of Aerys.

Robert had sent countless assassins to kill the runaway prince, but he evaded each one. It enraged him that a child could avoid capture, but the boy must have made friends to protect him from these assassins. The closest to killing Viserys was when Varys suggested using an exiled knight named Jorah Mormont to track him down. Robert died before he could give out the command, leaving Viserys alive long enough for Tyrion to convince Cersei that the last son of Aerys was a perfect prisoner. Especially now that the Stark sisters were missing.

Cersei hadn't gotten a look of Viserys when Mormont brought him to the Red Keep. Tyrion hadn't wanted to make the exiled prince's presence known yet, and for once, Cersei agreed with his decision. Still, she was curious if he resembled Rhaegar. He was a child the last time she saw him. He was a man grown now.

Perhaps it was the wine that possessed her to do it, but Cersei found herself commanding her guards to bring Viserys to her chambers washed and fed.

Her heart pounded wildly in her chest as she waited for Viserys. She drank more wine to distract her nerves and fiddled with her uncombed hair. She was in the privy when they arrived with—what Robert called him—the Beggar King. Her breath hitched as he stepped inside her chambers. What she saw… it left her disappointed. From first glance, he could easily be mistaken for Rhaegar with his coloring, but the longer she gazed about him, she could spot their differences. Rhaegar was taller and fitter, with darker eyes and longer hair.

 _Give him a few more meals and he could be as beautiful as his brother_ , Cersei thought, taking in the young man's gaunt form.

"Will you not bow before your queen?" Cersei questioned.

"My queen is dead," he replied, loathing coloring his tone. "All I see is the Usurper's whore."

Before she could even slap him, one of her guards kicked the back of his knees, sending him stumbling to the floor. She walked closer to him and grabbed him roughly by the chin, forcing him to look up at her. Cersei relished the act. It was not often that _she_ towered over men.

"It would be wise to hold that tongue of yours," she warned, sinking her nails into his skin. "I can order your death at any moment."

He stared at her with unrepentant hatred in his lilac eyes, yet made no reply. Cersei tilted her head with a smirk. She released him roughly and straightened her stance. "Send him back to the dungeons, and don't feed him for a week."

That would remind him of his place.

* * *

 **A/N:** Not my favorite chapter because of all the bouncing POVs and its relative shortness, but it was necessary. At least we get to see what Jon and Robb are up to. I was going to add Dany's bit in the north, but I'm saving that for the next chapter, where it will be the main focus. Hopefully I can update again before I go back to school. Anyways, be prepared for the next chapter. It's something else. Thanks for reading and please review!


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